


and there's blood on my hands but at least i have you

by readershark



Category: Original Work
Genre: Alternate Universe, M/M, Post-Apocalypse, Trans Character, Vampires, anyway, cant believe i wrote this, have fun
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-13
Updated: 2020-06-13
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 25,223
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24702109
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/readershark/pseuds/readershark
Summary: The world's ended. Hunter's life hasn't. Trying to survive in the new world, a world that now has demons and monsters roaming the streets, is a mission he's failing at. Until he meets Red, a vampire who is willing to team up with him. Together, they trek through the ruins and try to find answers to questions they won't ask. About the world, about life, and about each other. But the most glaring question keeps staring them in the face.After the apocalypse, what is worth surviving for?(The answer may just be each other.)
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	and there's blood on my hands but at least i have you

**Author's Note:**

> on a whim, really wanted to write post-apocalyptic gay vampire boyfriends. Ended up doing that! This was supposed to be an exercise in 3rd person writing and turned into this monster. please enjoy my gays (NOTE: I started writing this well before the epidemic taking place today. please skip the first few paragraphs if you are sensitive to those types of topics.)

The apocalypse came with a bang.

At least, if history books survived, that's what they would say. In reality, it came with a cough. One cough in a U.S. senior year creative writing classroom, another in a kindergarten class in Russia, and another in an office in Nigeria. More and more and more until there were so many that it felt like the planet could no longer breathe. Like it was dying.

Coughing was a symptom. Of what is still a mystery. There wasn't enough time, enough doctors left after the first week, to figure it out. Within two weeks ninety percent of the human population was gone. Dead. Rotting back into the ground. No burials, no mourners, no funerals.

Maybe more would have survived. A small portion of humans were immune, surviving through this plague that spread by hugs to family, breaths between lovers, fearful looks from strangers. It was small, but manageable. 8 billion people worldwide, an estimated 7 billion gone, it's enough to grow again. Just that side of enough.

Except, when the sun went down, after the first week, _they_ rose up. The things of fables, stories, nightmares escaped when the sun shined through curtains. Things that had been hiding for centuries, possibly millennia, arriving into the spotlight with the grace of a hungry lion desperately chasing their prey.

Those able to pass as human showed otherwise, and those hiding in the caves leapt into the light. Literally. Figuratively. It didn't matter, they were everywhere, and it was their world now. Stronger, faster, no longer outnumbered, the only humans who could survive were ones that learned to hide as well as they did. Better than they did.

It's been nine days since Hunter Isaac's been outside. He can hear them sometimes. Footsteps, followed by screaming, followed by the thump of bodies. He doesn't know how long he's been in the storm cellar he found, just that he's trapped now. He wasn't when he first decided to jump down in it.

One day was all he needed to acclimate to the new world. One night, he watched his mom and baby sister die of the plague. The next, his best friend, one of the rares like him that were immune, was killed by a vampire. They had a window facing each other and five hours after he walked in on his mother and sister, bleeding from their mouths and cold, he saw his best friend caught between the hands of a vampire. It was the first time he had seen them. He heard, saw pictures on social media, wondered how long before the apps stopped working.

But he had managed to avoid them. Until now. Until the moment he sees some girl with teeth too sharp and eyes too dark. He thinks she looks older, thinks she looks a lot like Sylvie, the girl who works at the bike shop, but he can't be sure. He can't see past the teeth ripping into his friend's throat, taking and taking and taking until Jay simply does not exist anymore.

He goes into survival mode faster than he thinks is possible. Doesn't allow himself to react, doesn't allow himself to feel. He turns it off, thinks only of himself, and tries to do what humans were made to do: survive. 

There's not much he can't live without, so he takes a backpack and starts stuffing it. Clothes, meds that will eventually run out, pictures of the only family he's ever known. He takes a notebook, a book with a cover that's barely staying on, and all the money in his stash. May not do him any good but it can't hurt to have.

He takes his knife, runs to where his mom doesn't ( _didn't,_ he reminds himself) think he knows, and opens the gun safe. Gun, a glock, too much ammunition for a single mother living in a suburban town, and puts in his waistband. He doesn't know if that's actually a good place because it's cold and weighing his jeans down, but it's what people in movies do so he does it too.

He knows, with Jay just next door, that he's working on borrowed time. But he has to think. Has to think more than two seconds into the future, so he steps into the kitchen, grabbing Hayley's gym bag on the way. It stinks of her, filled with her gymnastics uniform and used towels. Something like tears start to clog his throat, like he's breathing sawdust instead of air, but he can't. There isn't time. He empties the bag, watches the bright orange leotard crumble, and moves to the kitchen.

He fills the bag with everything non-perishable he can, suddenly grateful his mother was obsessed with granola and protein bars. There's a case of water bottles and he stuffs as many as he can into the bag even though it's already too heavy and slings it over his shoulder.

Keys. Car keys. They're on the counter where Mom always put them after picking Hayley up from practice. Hunter slept through it. Tired, scared, too anxious to stay up and wonder why he wasn't afflicted like so many others, if Hayley and Mom were like him. Woke up to a home that now had ghosts. 

He picks up the keys. He wishes he could feel the warmth of his mother's fingers on them but it's long since seeped out of the metal.

Gas cars stopped being a thing somewhere around 2028, replaced by solar and battery powered vehicles. The Isaac's is solar, and he fucking hopes there's enough battery to last him the night. Because he can't stop until daylight hits, can't stop until the uglies retreat back to where they're not welcome. He tells himself this, even though he knows sunlight means less of them, not none.

The car is parked in the garage. He thanks whatever he can scramble to believe in for that, because there's a mini charging station there, and doesn't stop running until he's in the driver's side and the two bags are in the seat next to him. There's no time to open the garage door, knows it won't be quieter than busting through it, so he just busts through it. He makes eye contact with the same vampire. She's coming from Jay's house, wiping blood off her lips, wiping it on her stained shirt.

With a start, he realizes he has no fucking idea how to kill her. He has a gun he's never shot, a knife that's too new, and no idea how to handle creatures that aren't human. Instead of thinking about it, he guns it, not knowing where he's going, only that he can't stop. He sees things that will fill his dreams, red six-legged things, purple and scaly skin on beings who are so broad they block the sun. Humanoid figures with hair that's alive or too many eyes. Hunter can't look for too long, so he doesn't. He doesn't look at the bodies lining the streets, either. 

He drives like he can drive into the sun, doesn't stop for days or maybe weeks that could actually be hours or minutes. Doesn't know anything until he finds the house. Maybe he's reached Ohio or Indiana or one of those states with too much corn and not enough people. Maybe everywhere is like that now, but there's a house on an abandoned street. It looks like it tapers off into something that could be a residential area, but this one is just isolated enough to feel like he could stay there for a night.

He parks the car and hides it within the stalks, knife pressed into his hand and gun against his back, muscles tense enough to snap until he makes it to the house. And he means to go in, he really does, but then he notices the storm cellar. Its doors are made of something almost too heavy for him to lift, but he does it anyway, and, without thinking, crawls down.

Looking back, that was his mistake. Not thinking past which shelter will hold up the best. Because when he climbs in, he realizes the door that should lead to the house is missing, like the house had forgotten this place even exists. He pulls on the chain hanging from the ceiling, thankful for the dim bulb that comes to life, and looks around. There's a couple of chairs, an old and stained couch, a cot in the corner, and an exposed flush toilet with a tiny sink next to it. Not much more than a room. He digs around, dumping his bags by the stairs, and starts to snoop. There's some MRE's stuffed into a file cabinet, and the expiration date hasn't passed, so he puts them into his backpack. A few books lay in a dusty pile and Hunter flips through them, but they're mostly history and one random, old, math textbook. He's never used one before, so he flips through it with curiosity, knowing that his school tablet is rotting somewhere in its charger.

School stopped happening after all the teachers died. It's only been a week since then but maybe it's also been a year. He feels like his body has aged ten.

Other than the small stash, there's not really anything, so he stands and double-checks the deadbolts before settling on the couch. He reaches for the tiny end table and drags it over to himself, placing the gun on it, though keeping his knife in his pocket. It isn't until he turns to get comfortable, sans blanket, does he feel the press of his phone in his pocket.

His fingers reach for it, knowing it has a least few days charge left on it. To his surprise, the cellar holds a decent signal, and without thinking about it, he opens PixelRate. Instantly, he knows it's a mistake. There are only messages from survivors, pictures of those who didn't, some infographics on how to kill this and that. Everyone he would care to check up on is dead, but it doesn't stop him from scrolling over to Hayley's page. There's a photo he hadn't seen.

One last gymnastics practice. Taken three days before the ruin started. Hayley had just turned thirteen. Her friends were edging the same age, and she would never admit it, but she liked having the earliest birthday, because it made her feel older when she was the baby at home. He clicks out before the world starts to tilt and searches for tips on how to kill stuff instead.

_Gaknar Demon: Only something silver will work. Bullet or letter opener, it doesn't matter. Feeds on humans._

_T'lear Demon: A knife dipped in lamb's blood. Or fire. Feeds on meat, including humans._

_Rovenous Demon: Go for the head. Always the head. Immune to bullets, silver, and wood. Not known to be carnivorous, but can possibly turn to it if hungry enough._

Hunter doesn't know what any of these fucking things are and never goddamn wants to know. He wonders if people are making up names as they go or if there's scholars who miraculously survived and are rolling up their fucking sleeves. He scrolls until there's a word he recognizes.

_Vampire: Wooden stake through the heart. Fire. Decapitation. Sunlight. Can pass as human. Unknown if salt or religious myths are true. Carnivorous. Feeds on humans._

He falls asleep somewhere between checking the last remaining news and memorizing kill methods.

***

Morning comes with a snap, and then a crumble. Hunter wakes with a start, heart beating so fast it might jump out of his chest. He checks the time on his phone because there's no windows in this place. It's morning. Time to leave. Time to _go._

Except. He can't. The door wont budge, creaky metal that groans when he throws his shoulder into it. For one horrified moment, he thinks he's died and gone somewhere bad, but then he cuts himself on his knife trying to pry the hinges off and figures dead people don't bleed, so he's okay. He's just bleeding now, which sucks.

Then he remembers the few scattered trees on the property, bent over and willowed with age. He thinks of the snap, then the crumble, and instantly knows. There's a tree on top of the door. A tree that will not budge and will not be moved. Just his fucking luck.

He survived the plague, bypassed the monsters, escaped the city, just to die in a storm cellar from starvation or thirst, whatever takes him first.

He has enough rations to live for a little while, and just so boredom isn't the thing to take him in the end, he thinks about gorging until it's gone. There's no point in putting out an S.O.S. There's no one out there to find him, and even if there was, they wouldn't come. It's survival of the fittest, and those stupid enough to get stuck in storm cellars will not survive the Darwinism ravaging the population.

He takes out the first bag of granola, a water bottle, one of the long and thick history books, and settles down.

***

Day three brings the tears. The big choking sobs he couldn't manage to get out before. They bring the stuttering inhales that make him feel like Death is closing hands around his throat. His cheeks are valleys, neck a waterfall, screaming with the force of his crying. It hurts, tears at his lungs and rips at his chest. He can't stop. Can't stop can't stop can't can't _can't–_

Hayley, her long, light brown hair messy and limp from practice. Hanging around her in one big mess, scrunchie forgotten on her wrist. The way only one eye closed, the other staring at the ceiling with questions that will never be answered. Her tiny, small, barely-grown body curled into Mom.

Mom, her arms around Hayley like she knows this is a cuddle they will never wake up from. He wonders who started coughing first, who started bleeding first, whose insides started to crumble until they were liquid. Mom's lips just barely pressed into Hayley's hair, blood matting the roots and crusting over his mother's lips like her favorite lipstick. He had slept through it. Slept through all of it. Woke up to find them stiff and rotting. He doesn't want to think about them now, but the images stain his eyes.

He throws up in the toilet, flushes, and drinks the tap water. Maybe that will have some dumb bacteria that will finish the job for him.

***

Day ten is close to the end. Hasn't heard any footsteps for days, not even the thump of bodies or screams of victims. He's finished all the too-thick history books and now knows more about World War II than he ever wanted to. He's lost weight, can tell by the way his pants slip past his hips and shirt bunches around the ribs. His phone died night of day eight, so there's nothing. Couldn't take it, take the nothing that surrounded every heartbeat. He abandoned the rest of his supply, stopped drinking water. It's been two days. His head feels like there's too much bone not enough brain, heavy and pounding with pain. His tongue is dry, vision blurry, eyes dry past the point of uncomfortable.

He passes out somewhere between reaching for the water and thinking about the days before the first body fell.

***

He figures it's somewhere between night eleven and day twelve, or maybe somewhere between life and death, when the door creaks. He figures maybe there's a storm outside, maybe the tree is shifting, settling back into position. But then moonlight trickles onto his feet, lighting up the shoes he never bothered to take off. Hayley got them for his twentieth birthday, saved up all her allowance just for these stupid running shoes. He hates running, but he ran every day for six months because she got them for him.

He thinks about crying again. He can't find the tears.

He can hear the stairs creaking as someone comes down them but picking up his head is a monstrous effort. There's no more saliva in his mouth, or else he would lick his lips in nervousness. His hand is curled around a full water bottle. He can't even lift his arm to drink it. Funny. That's so fucking funny. Hunter laughs, muffled by exhaustion and accelerated by fear. Whatever has come down the stairs is next to him now, its cold fingers on his chin.

With a calm sort of gentle, it turns his face, forcing him to see. His first instinct is that this thing, whatever it is, is beautiful. Soft, half-curled blonde hair, eyes so blue and sharp they could cut glass, skin bordering on pale and paper-white. Full lips, too red to be real, curling into a smile. He looks like he could be Hunter's age, maybe a few years older. His fingers are long and delicate, soft on his chin and gentle in their grip.

There's sound that is maybe talking, but he can't focus, eyes hazy and vision blurred around the edges. The grip becomes harder, fingers digging into skin, and he inhales sharply, pain lacing his senses. They become sharper, and the boy's soft edges become hard lines. Sharp jaw, high cheekbones, cupid's bow that's stupidly defined.

The mouth with its soft smile is opening and Hunter zeroes in on it, trying to understand what it's saying. It takes a few tries, but finally the words break through the haze and he can make sense of them. "What are you doing down here, love?" The voice is as beautiful as its owner, quiet and gentle as their fingers, soft and British. It's one of those fancy London accents, the ones that always want to call people _darling_. The man looks at him. "What are you doing?"

Hunter thinks the answer is fairly obvious. "Dying," he rasps out, hands curling around the plastic water bottle. It crinkles. His lips crack. Bleed, the first moisture to cross them in days. The boy's eyes flick towards it before settling on the water bottle.

He grabs Hunter's jacket, abandoned by his knees, and folds it. Gently, ever-so-gently, he places it under the dying boy's head. "I can see that. Why?"

And it reaches Hunter's brain to be suspicious. A lazy kind of suspicious, but still there. How did he get past the tree? How is he, this boy that is so gentle, still alive? "Tree fell. Trapped." He doesn't remember how to speak, words stuttered and mumbled. Every movement is hard and sends pain shooting through his skull. His muscles are tense, ready to snap at any given movement.

The boy nods, slowly reaching over Hunter to take the water bottle. He stands it next to where he's knelt down. His eyes flick down to his lips again, where the blood has dried between the cracks, and he knows. He knows exactly what this boy is, why he looks so healthy, why he is not afraid. He closes his eyes because he can't sigh, and relaxes into the boy's arms.

"Will it hurt?" he asks, hands twitching with the need to move. Maybe they want to fight. Maybe, if he could, he would run.

The boy cocks his head, softly tussled hair falling over one eye. "Will what hurt?"

"When you kill me. Will it hurt?"

The boy smiles again, but this time it seems sad and misplaced. "You'll feel tired, love."

"Already am."

The boy nods and his face starts to change. Those gorgeously blue eyes bleed into black, veins of the same color creeping up his arms, his neck, into his face, marring the pale skin. His face scrunches into something scary and vicious, all hard ridges and sharp lines. His teeth change, canines pointing and curling to a small hook at the end, the rest almost shifting out the way to make room for them, curling and pointing just the same.

His fingers become claws, pressing just too tightly into the skin, bringing with it pinpricks of blood. He smiles again but it doesn't look sweet this time. It's hungry, the smile of someone who has already won. He leans in close, swiping a sandpaper tongue over Hunter's neck, breath almost chilling.

"What's your name, love?"

 _Love_. That word sounds good, even to his tired ears. Hunter meets the boy's black eyes. They are too full and empty. "Hayley," he chokes out.

The boy raises an eyebrow. "Don't look like that to me."

There's a twinge in his gut, fear for something that's no longer relevant. He's been stealth for so long, but in the moment before death, he doesn't think it matters if his murderer finds out he's trans or not. "My...my sister. Someone should remember her name."

The boy's eyebrows furrow a little, like he's mournful, but it's gone in an instant. His fingers move over Hunter's eyes, closing them. "It'll only last a moment. You'll get to rest soon."

There's a bite of pain as the boy bends down, needles entering his skin, and then it's nothing. A mix of pressure, pain, pleasure, his body isn't sure which one to focus on. It's nothing, nothing, nothing, endless sea of dark. It's like that until it stops.

Hunter Isaac is gone.

***

He wakes up on a cot. The first thing he feels are springs poking into his back. The second is the dim lighting, and there's a soft blanket on him. Then comes the smell, something clinical and clean, the faint stink of anti-bacterial soap. When he shifts there's a prick in his arm. When he looks, there's a needle in it, taped there with what looks like something medical grade. There's a tube and he follows it up to a bag with some sort of clear liquid in it, slowly dripping into his bloodstream.

In an instant, he's upright, alert, no time to focus on the fact that holy shit he can _move_ and it doesn't send agonizing pain through him. He immediately tears at the tape, jostling the needle, letting out a huff of pain.

There's a movement. Hunter stops, holds his breath, surveying the area as best he can. His eyes still haven't adjusted to the lighting and there's too many shadows for him to count. Then, suddenly, there's a body in front of him. It's something like the same height as him, maybe even shorter, and has soft, tousled hair. Pale skin, eyes sharp like glass, strong jaw and high cheekbones.

Hunter jumps back, head banging into the wall and needle digging into his arm. He groans and the boy's hands fly out to steady him. It only makes him jump again.

"Be still, love. It's okay."

That soft voice stumbles into his ears, sharp and clear, something he hasn't been in days. His head is still hurting from the bash he gave it, arm throbbing from the jostling of the I.V. When he opens his mouth, he means to say something, but it's just a groan. The boy leans forward, and for the first time, Hunter sees that he's really...not that big.

He's long and lean, slim muscle faintly outlined through his long-sleeve shirt. Thin fingers hold him down, firm in their grip. He's almost opposite of Hunter, who falls somewhere between muscular and husky, broad and strong. He's lost weight now, even more muscle. He doesn't want to look in the mirror, afraid of what he might see.

The boy slowly steps back, like he's worried Hunter might bolt. If he wasn't sure the vampire could catch him first, maybe he would've. "Don't take that out. You should be on it for at least another few hours."

His hand covers the I.V. almost protectively. He can see now, there's haphazard writing on the clear bag. _Saline_. Slowly, eyes never leaving the boy, he raises a shaky hand to his neck. He can feel them there, feel the scabbed cuts that will become scars. They're not raised or puffy anymore, which means it's been at least a day since he was last conscious. "I...I'm not dead," he says, flexing and curling his fingers just to prove it.

The boy smiles, something bright and brilliant. "Hope not. Tried too hard to keep you alive."

"But I felt...you."

The boy looks sheepish, shrugging just in the slightest. "Needed at least something to help get you out of there, and it was too deserted for animals."

"You saved me?"

"Don't say it like that. Not a hero, never will be." Something crosses his tone then, twisting it to harsh jabs, but then it's like he's realized what he's done and it dissipates with his next words. "You were out for two days. I was afraid I was going to lose you after all that."

Hunter's head spins, his thoughts pinging off so many corners of his brain it's starting to give him a headache. "But you're a vampire."

He nods, eyes owlish, like he's comforting a child. "Noticed that bit myself, thanks."

"Vampires kill people."

The boy scoffs, starting to pace. His shirt is the brightest thing in the room, a pale blue that matches his eyes. "Do you want me to kill you?"

Hunter doesn't know the answer to that, so he moves on. He looks around the room, and for the first time, recognizes the hum of a fridge coming from somewhere in it. He roams the too-dark space before settling on a sleek, steel fridge, labeled _NO FOOD!_ There's a lab table close to it, another one in front of it, like they've been shoved to the back to clear space. The smell of antiseptic, the sterile feel of the air. They're in a hospital. He doesn't even know what state he's in, much less which hospital, or where in the building. If he had to guess, he'd say the basement labs.

The boy steps into his eyesight, demanding attention. "You can give me your name now. I'm not gonna hurt you."

Hunter sits up straighter, feeling small on the cot, unable to pull up to his full height. The boy must sense that, because he folds until he's hugging his knees, curling up on himself. He stares at the boy's eyes, trying to see something that isn't there. Finally, he sighs, relenting. "Hunter Isaac," he says, leaning back just in the slightest.

The boy smiles again. "Hunter Isaac. I like that. Guess it's fair you know me, too. The name's Silas, but you can call me Red."

"Red?"

"Think of it like a nickname." There's a gleam behind those eyes Hunter doesn't want to decipher, so he doesn't.

"Should I be worried that this isn't actually saline?"

Red shakes his head, standing up once again to look at the bag of fluids. "It is. Just some fluids to get you going again. You let yourself get pretty dehydrated. If I hadn't found you, you would've been dead meat."

"Where are we?"

He shrugs, carefully undoing the tape on Hunter's wrist. "Somewhere in Ohio. Tiny emergency care clinic. It's abandoned, but I latched the door just in case." Red pulls the I.V. needle out, grabbing a gauze from a kit on the tray next to the cot. Hunter hadn't even noticed it. If he did, he might've pulled the scalpel sitting on it. Red puts a small piece of cotton on the pinprick, and then a band-aid, smoothing it before pulling away again. He frowns at the discarded needle, like he really wishes Hunter would stay on it, and then shoves a water bottle into his chest. Hunter grabs it without thinking and starts to drink.

Hunter finds himself staring a little bit. If he were to see Red on the street, he would be totally unassuming. He's not a severely intimidating man, nothing like movies or T.V. had geared vampires up to be. He's got soft skin and hair and eyes. He's wearing pastels and converse. He smiles like the sun. When Red meets his eyes, a questioning glance in his gaze, Hunter tears his own away. Red may have saved him, but he's still a vampire. He's still dangerous.

"Can you stand?" Red himself straightens up and holds out a hand.

Hunter takes it. He doesn't get a chance to answer, because Red hauls him up with a strength that nearly yanks his arm out of his socket. He stumbles with the force of it, only steadied by the boy in front of him. His head swims from the quick action after so many days of being still. It settles within a moment, and he's staring at Red again. He was right, the vampire is two or so inches shorter than him, just enough to make a difference.

Red's light hair, light eyes, light skin look starkly different to his own dark hair, dark eyes, and light brown skin. Part from running in the sun, part from the grandparents from Mexico. He took after his father, his skin, his eyes, his breadth. Hayley looked more like Mom, paler skin and lighter eyes and athleticism. When they moved from the city to the outer-skirts of the 'burbs, she fit in easily. But Hunter had learned early that roots are much harder to destroy than a seed. Had learned early that monsters existed before the multi-colored ones revealed themselves.

Red stepping away from him shakes him from thought, and suddenly he's moving too fast for Hunter to follow. His body blurs throughout the room as he gathers things, stuffing them into a duffel. When he stops, he's got two blood bags in one hand, and he can see one half hanging out of a backpack that he sets on the counter, the duffel by his feet.

He can already see Red's eyes changing, that soft blue seeping into nothing. Without thinking, he puts his hand to his neck, remembering the nothingness that clouded _him_. Red almost looks sheepish, and it looks funny coming from eyes that could stare into his very soul. "I would turn around," he says thickly, claws sinking into the blood bag. "This part's kinda ugly."

Hunter doesn't have to be told twice. He turns, blocking out the sounds by thinking about the past two weeks. He still doesn't know why Red saved him, or what the vampire's gonna do to him now that he's up and moving. Still a little weak, and his muscles feel too slow, but he can run if he tried. At least, he thinks he can.

After a few moments, there's a shuffling behind him, and then Red's voice filters back into the air. "Come on," he says. "I've been here too long. It's time to move on."

Hunter shrugs, picking up his own backpack. He noticed it at the end of the cot when he stood up, and thankfully, it still has his medicine in it. He knows it won't be found at some abandoned hospital, so he thinks, if Red doesn't kill him first, he should ask him to stop at another.

"If it's safe, why leave?" he asks, moving towards the door even though maybe he shouldn't.

Red's face is back to normal, the smell of blood clear in his breath. "Sooner or later other things will sniff out a human. It's easier just to keep moving. Cleared out their stash, anyway."

He moves on without anything more, and Hunter follows. They walk up a flight of stars and a slash of moonlight cuts across the hallway they enter. There's a haunted feel to the hospital now, clinical and quiet. He can almost feel the ghosts that roam the halls, but it's the smell that almost makes him double over. It's the smell of rot, the smell of those forgotten in their beds.

Hunter heaves before he can stop it, but there's nothing for him to throw up. His stomach is empty, impossibly small from the days of not eating. It hurts his already sore chest. Cold fingers settle on his neck and he jumps, nearly tripping. Those same fingers curl around his bicep, keeping him upright. He takes a few breaths, calming the stirring of his stomach, and stands back up.

"Sorry," he breathes, wiping his mouth.

"Just more of a reason to leave." Though Red seems utterly unaffected by the stench.

The two cross a short hallway before breaking out into the night, into a strip mall. Hunter sucks in a breath, because they aren't alone. It's crawling with other things, things that look too familiar and like they're from a fantasy novel. Red presses closer to him, forcing their hands together, and walks forward with more confidence than Hunter could ever manage.

There's a parking lot in the center, and Hunter's car is there, untouched. Red pulls him towards it, grip bruising, and pushes him up against the door. He dips his mouth to Hunter's neck, breath fanning over his skin in a way that definitely does _not_ make him want to shiver.

"Stay here," Red whispers, shoving him softly into the metal. "We've got company."

There's a growl on the other side of the car, something animalistic and hungry. It makes fear crawl up Hunter's throat, choking the voice he wishes he could use. Red presses him a little harder. He whispers so low the human can barely hear it. "Don't do that. Makes us hungrier."

"Being scared?" he says, turning so he's saying it directly into Red's skin.

Teeth prick his skin, and he has to stop himself from reacting, stop himself from hitching his breath in panic and fear. Just like that first night, he shuts down, not allowing anything to come through. Slightly, he relaxes into Red's arms, letting those long fingers hold him up. He feels the boy smile against his neck.

"Good boy," he whispers, finally raising his head.

He still presses Hunter into the car, using only his lower body, his upper body pointing towards the other vampires. His hands rest on either side of Hunter's face, splayed, almost cradling his head. Like...like he's about to tilt it to the side, expose his neck, feed from his veins.

"What do you need, boys?" Red says. Hunter can see him raise a perfectly executed eyebrow.

"Red. Didn't think you made it out of Arizona." The one to speak has some sort of southern drawl, slow and languid.

"Am I supposed to know you?"

"You painted my girl."

Red's fingers hold Hunter ever-so stronger, press him just a little bit harder. "Must be a masterpiece then." There's excitement in his voice, part pride, part something else.

A growl rips through the air and Hunter automatically grips Red's shirt, twisting his hands in it but not letting himself get scared. He got good at that early on. Blanking out his face, shutting himself off, it got easier, and then they left the city. Red moves one hand from his face to where his wrist is, closing over it with a surprisingly soft touch.

"I'll tear your new toy to pieces, Red."

"Oh, you and the two bastards have me quaking."

"No one likes a cannibal, Red." This is a new voice, it's deeper and harder, slightly lispy and Hunter knows that means he's changed his face.

Red scoffs, hand now moving into Hunter's hair, possibly to press it down so the vampire looks a little taller. He may be pressed into a car door, held with one tenth of Red's power, but it doesn't make him any shorter. "Please. We all fucking do it, and these days, you're lucky I'm not considering it now."

The gravel crunches as one steps forward. "Three of us. One of you. I would run, little Red."

The change in Red is instant. He grips Hunter for one agonizing moment, fingers clenched so hard he's afraid it might break him. Before he can, though, the vampire steps back, leaving him open. The night air, cool and still, washes over his skin. He hasn't been outside in almost two weeks and resists gulping in air like the lifeline it is.

Red's face isn't soft like it usually is, and even though he hasn't changed, his voice is rigid and sharp. "You want him, you can have him." He procures a cigarette from his pocket, a lighter from the other, and lights up. "Humans. Fucking trouble." He inhales deeply, holds it for a few moments, and then exhales, smoke hanging in the air before dissipating.

Red eyes him, disinterested, and takes another drag. No one moves, stunned into silence. He waves the cigarette around, the butt the only light in the otherwise dark lot. "What are you lot waiting for? You want him, you've bloody well got him." His voice thickens into something angry and hard, even if it's trying to be carefree.

Hunter doesn't give it much thought. He drops his bag, knowing it'll be dead weight, and bolts. If he can round the hospital he can get to the private lot, and if he can get to the private lot, he can get into the hospital, hide in the smell of death and rot.

His legs feel like jelly, all the muscle he built up over the past half year wasted with the days he spent dying. But the footsteps behind him get louder, and all he can think of is going faster, so he does, pushing himself so hard he can't breathe.

The hospital door is twenty feet ahead of him. The footsteps are maybe ten. He knows he won't make it. The fact that he's run this far is already a miracle, so he doesn't run anymore. Red didn't take his gun, it still sits in a waistband that's slightly too big. He pulls it out in one fluid motion and turns around, clicking off the safety and firing with the fluidity of someone who feels comfortable in their actions.

Except he doesn't. He's barely held a gun before, let alone fired one. It's deafening. The acrid smell of smoke fills his nose and his shoulder aches. He didn't absorb the shock, instead let it jerk him around. He cups the hand holding the gun and fires again, rolling into it this time, letting the muzzle fire light his aim. He steps forward when he hears a grunt, aims, and fires again. He knows this won't kill them, but he hopes it'll at least buy him time.

He lets loose on the ammunition, firing the rest of the twelve shots from the gun, not stopping even though he can't hear a fucking thing. He regrets not filling up the magazine, or taking any ammo, because he's wasted his best weapon on things it can't kill. Maybe, if he survives this, he'll hunt for a shop. In the middle of corn country it shouldn't be hard.

He clicks the safety back on and shoves the gun back into his waistband, ignoring the burn of the muzzle against his skin. He keeps running, shoving through the door of the lot and into the back property. There's a man-made wood, if he would have to guess, less than a mile across. Probably just something for patients to look at, there may even be a graveyard somewhere. All he knows is that there's enough to get lost in.

He darts in, reaching for branches that may have fallen, not even knowing if wooden stakes will actually do it, just blindly putting faith in that one fucking Instagram post he saw. The luxury of moonlight is eaten by the trees, and he scrabbles along the ground until something scrapes his wrist. He grabs it, wood splinters sinking into his palm with a pain he can't think of right now.

He can't run much longer. His lungs are wheezing and restricting; he can't breathe. He ducks behind a tree, trying to steady his breaths and get his heart out of his throat. He may have slowed his attackers, but he didn't kill them. He grips the branch harder, looking at it for the first time. It's broken off in the middle, making it about eight inches, enough for him to control. He runs his finger over the tip and hopes it's sharp enough for him to drive through bone.

Leaves, long dead, crunch beneath feet. He hears one set of them, and then two. He holds his breath. "Come on, sweet pea. We ain't gonna hurt you." The voice belongs to the first vamp he heard speak. He steps forward, towards the tree Hunter is hiding behind. "Okay, we're gonna hurt ya. Wish little Red cared, but my boys are still hungry."

There's silence, then a movement to his right. It's fast, blurry in the dark. Hunter's eyes track it as best he can, latching on to the vampire. He's so focused that he's left his other side wide open, and they take advantage of it. In an instant he's slammed against the same tree he hid behind, teeth on his neck and sinking into his skin.

He struggles to think, wind knocked out of him with the force of the shove. The make-shift stake in his hand pricks his finger, reminds him that he didn't get this far to die like this. To die like Jay did, scared and alone. At least the first time, when he gave up, he wasn't scared. He was peaceful, and damn if he goes out any other way.

He steadies his grip, points the stake, and rams it as far into this guy's chest as he can. He shoves it between the ribs, raking it up to where the lungs must be, pushing it so hard that he cuts his own hand.

And for one, terrifying moment. Nothing happens.

Then it happens all at once. 

The vampire, with Hunter's blood on his tongue, crumbles. His body turns into dust and gets all over him before settling on the floor. Gross.

He barely has time to blink before something grabs his arm and throws him backward. All he knows is that he's flying through air. When he lands, it's hard, and his leg takes the brunt of the fall. He just barely holds the scream of pain building in his throat and crawls forward, one hand clutching his leg. It's bleeding, badly, torn open by the unforgiving floor of the woods. He knows making sounds won't matter now. Anything with a taste for human will smell him miles away.

So, he does make noise. He grunts and screams and yells, wrestling with the vamp coming after him. He roars in pain, shredding his throat, and uses both legs to push into the vampire's chest, and then out, sending the body backwards. In the moment of freedom, he digs his knife out, stumbling to his feet and screaming the entire time. He doesn't have time to check his leg, but it's something deep. Something he probably can't recover from. It burns as he stands, takes over everything, and then he's not standing anymore. He's back on the ground, trying to crawl to salvation.

A hand catches the ankle on his good leg, dragging him back. He cries out as it tears the skin on his open cut. "Can see why Red liked you." He's yanked beneath a body, and then the second vamp from the lot is sitting on him, trapping his torso between both knees and squeezing until he hears two distinct cracks. The sound of his ribs breaking off. The sound of his whittled breaths follow closely. Vaguely, Hunter remembers there's a third vampire. He hopes the gunshots actually fucking hurt him, because he doesn't seem to be in the wood.

The vampire on top of him grips his face with one hand, crushes his skin together. The other is used to grab at his bad leg, making Hunter groan. The vampire smiles. "Maybe Portraits had a good idea keepin' you." He dips down, noses along Hunter's throat in a way that makes the human want to throw up. "And I love the way you scream."

He digs his claws into the gash at Hunter's leg. The boy screams, bucking involuntarily, thrashing so hard he may sprain something else.

"Sorry. He's already taken."

Hunter freezes. The voice makes anger rise in his gut, twisting the taste in his mouth something sour. When he looks up, he sees Red, teeth glinting and hair pulled away from his face. His eyes are dark, veins creeping over his skin, moving down his arms and crawling over his neck. He's all sharp edges and hard lines again, a predator who knows they've got their prey. When their eyes meet, when Hunter looks to Red and finds nothing, he screams.

He's not sure if it's in pain or rage, maybe a mix of both, but Red revels in it. The vampire on top of him is thrown off, and his bulk makes Red looks tiny. The guy is over six feet, easy, built like a linebacker on steroids. Red holds him up with one hand, gets caught by a stray foot, and drops him.

"Maybe I'll take your boy just to tick you off," Linebacker says. They're circling each other, a stalemate. "Seems you don't care about him much."

Red growls, the first bit of control he's let slip since meeting Hunter. "Careful, might find some inspiration in this wood."

Hunter groans, rolling over so his bad leg isn't bearing the brunt of his weight. He thinks the vamp Red is fighting may have broken his entire body. He can't tell one pain from the other.

Linebacker moves forward too fast, rams into Red with enough force to send him stumbling back. Red finds his footing and laughs, dancing around Linebacker and teasing him, easily dodging the attacks. He doesn't ever move first, letting himself go on the defensive. Hunter realizes he's waiting for a spot of vulnerability. A spot of weakness. Linebacker is power and brute force, but Red is calculating, patient, and smart. The kind of monster who will play with its food first. "You want him but you can't even get through me. Pathetic." Red dodges again. Easily.

"Think I might just make you watch me snap his neck." Linebacker smirks, too confident, and steps away, exposing his side.

Red smiles, eyes narrowing, and lunges forward, trapping Linebacker to a tree. They tumble, rolling over each other so fast that Hunter can't keep track of who's who. Finally, they stop, maybe ten feet away from him. He can't really tell which one is which, decides at this point it doesn't matter, and rolls until he's next to them.

He doesn't count on the element of surprise, knows the harsh breaths he's taking is all the warning they need. So he relies on the white hot fury in him instead, gathering up the last of his strength to raise the fucking makeshift stake above his head, and ram it into the back of whichever vampire is on top.

He knows instantly that he's missed the heart. Almost the same second he knows he's stabbed Linebacker, not Red, though he kinds wishes it was Red.

Linebacker roars, something much more menacing than Hunter's screams. Red takes the moment to push Linebacker off him, yanks the stake out of his back, and plunges it directly into the vampire's heart. He does it so hard that the stake breaks, half of it crumbling to dust when the vamp does.

Hunter scrambles back, scavenging for something else wooden and pointy. He comes up with something that's flimsy and small, but it just may be enough. His adrenaline is wearing out fast, so it's now or never. He runs forward, ramming into Red with everything he has left. His leg screams at him, aching beyond belief, chest burning with each breath. If he was spent before, he's a dead man now, because after this, there'll be nothing left.

He pushes the smaller boy up against another tree, pinning him there with all the force he has left, and shoves the broken stick into his chest with the palm of his hand. He's missed. He's too tired to care. He got him just below the heart, and then Red is on top of him, pinning him down, breathing harshly and pulling out the offending weapon. He throws it aside, hard, and it lands far into the fake wood.

"Fuck! Why did you do that!" He holds the rapidly closing wound, catching his own blood in his hands.

Hunter groans. He feels like passing out. "Fuck. You," he wheezes out, voice just barely above a whisper. His leg is going to fall off soon. He's pretty sure that's what happens. Pretty sure one of his ribs has broken completely off and is floating somewhere around his body. When he looks down at himself, for the first time since running, all he sees is dirt and blood and bruises and how broken he is.

Red holds his shoulders down, forcing him to lay still. "Be still, love. You've already spent too much. You need to heal."

And that's funny but he can't laugh because it hurts too much. Also maybe he's forgotten how. "C-can't heal from this."

"I just needed to see how well you could fight. People fight better when it's life or death, y'know? Also all the chasing is fun."

Hunter hits him. Hard as he can. It hurts his fist, breaks something he thinks. Red's head whips to the side but he gets the feeling that he does it just for show. It makes him angrier. Red rubs his jaw, still holding the human down. "I know. I didn't think you'd get this hurt. You've gotta rest now, love. You have to rest."

"I hit my head. Can't rest. I'll never wake up."

Red's hands move under his head, cradle him with that gentleness that's still so surprising. "This is going to taste bad, Hunter. Just bear it. It'll make you feel tired, and very strange, but it's good for you."

There's a movement he can't follow, and then something is being pressed against his mouth. It's bitter and copper-like, thick and hot on his tongue. He wants to throw it up as soon as it goes down, but he's so tired. He's so tired that even closing his eyes is a chore. He's so tired that he doesn't even remember passing out.

***

Silas, or, Red, as he should really say, sighs when the body under him goes limp. He shouldn't have let it get this far, but seeing Hunter become the embodiment of his name...it made him want the chase so much more. He had only wanted to see if the human could fight, if he had to stick to him like glue, but he reacted so much better (or maybe worse) than he expected him to.

Hunter had reacted in a way that let Red know he's run before. He dropped everything, relied on only himself, didn't even look back as he chose the option to survive. Red picks him up bridal style, and the kid is lighter than he should be. The gun clatters from wherever Hunter's stored it to the ground, and begrudgingly, the vampire picks it up. It's probably something that'll make the human feel more secure, even if it does nothing to most non-human things.

Still, it was kinda hot watching him shoot stuff.

When they get to the car, Red knows it's been too long. The night is shifting into morning and they'll only get a few hours of driving in before having to find somewhere to crash for the day. He fishes the key out of his pocket and lays Hunter down in the passenger seat, lowering it down as far as it will go before buckling him in.

When he slides in, holding the key fob to start the ignition, he thinks about putting the car on autopilot. After a moment, he decides against it. He doesn't know where he is, much less where he's going, just that he _needs_ Hunter with him.

He stumbled across the storm cellar by accident. First, he found the car, a good half-mile from the cellar itself. He could smell someone was recently in it, though there was no trace of them in the air. He had just fed, alive with the chase, head racing with the excitement of the hunt. The way that girl felt as he sucked her dry. Every time he feeds it feels like the first time and the rush sends him spinning.

There wasn't much else where he was, and feeding from the blood bank he found was safe, but boring. He needed _fun_. The night was so still, so quiet, that picking out the heartbeat was almost easy. The house was close, and he searched it looking for the heartbeat, tearing through each and every room. The only things he found were dead fish, rotting and floating in the tank. Either the owner died elsewhere, or they got the hell out of dodge.

He left the house again, listening, feeling with everything he had. He let his body follow what his mind was working too hard for, and ended up in front of a tree. It's big and heavy, and it almost wiped him out to shove it off whatever it was blocking. It's old, much older than himself, and now it's dead.

Underneath the tree was a big metal door. The heartbeat, he realized, was faint. That's why it was hard for him to pinpoint. Whatever is down there was close to death. He wrenched open the door, and the first thing to hit him was the smell. He's drawn to it, the same smell he caught a hint of in the car. It's so utterly human, but he knew the second he started down those steps that it was _his_ human.

The boy he came across was splayed on the floor, barely breathing, and half-dead. He barely even flinched when Red came down, could hardly move to look at him. When Red fed from him it was out of necessity, not want, and the blood tasted heavy and wrong. Good, better, richer than anything he'd ever had, but it sat heavy in him.

Red hums at the memory, looking at the man next to him. Hunter was ready to kill him. Hell, he _tried_ to kill him. That sends a thrill down his spine, something that's been quiet since his last portrait spree. He figures Hunter will be out until at least tomorrow night. Gives him time to find a safe house, lock it up tight. He has enough blood to last him a week maybe, and with the electricity still running in most places, it'll keep. It means he can watch over Hunter, make sure he's healing okay.

Vampire blood is different from human blood. It's got an extra charge, and in small doses, that can help heal a human's ailment. In large doses, it can stop the heart completely. It acts almost like a drug that way. In small doses, it helps supercharge a human's ability to heal themselves. In large doses, it's a death sentence, drowning out the red blood cells until there's nothing left. The human will die. Red's never given a human his blood before and silently hopes he didn't royally fuck this up.

It's been a few hours since he gave Hunter his, and he can smell that the blood has stopped. He still has bruises, but the smell of _pain death suffering_ has faded, replaced with the sweet tang of healing. He keeps going for another few hours and eventually finds a deserted house. There's, thankfully, no bodies inside, so he brings Hunter inside and settles him on the master bed. He doesn't need the lights, and someone who's sleeping doesn't either, so he doesn't even bother.

He finds an extra pair of keys in the bottom of a mail bin near the front door, locks the door behind him, and grabs the bags. When he gets back inside, Hunter is shivering, shaking from the cold, and he forgets how much he doesn't feel it. Quickly, he covers the younger boy with the blankets and pulls up a chair. It's all he can do to wait.

***

Hunter wakes up in another bed that is not his own. It's not the cot, either. It's a real bed. A big one where he can stretch out and curl up. He also has a killer headache, a disgusting taste in his mouth, and the biggest need to pee.

He struggles to get up, and the room is dark. As soon as he stumbles, hands are there to meet him, firm and strong. They steady him. "What do you need, love?"

"Bathroom," he groans, pitching forward. He doesn't even feel himself walking there, but then he's there, and he's pushing Red out of the door and locking it. He knows it won't do much good but it's the only safety he has and goddamn it right now it needs to be enough.

He pees, then throws up, then sucks down so much tap water that he wants to throw up again. The owners of the house, whoever they are, have a purifier on even their bathroom tap. He doesn't know if it still works. Still, he drinks, and it tastes like rust and pipes and it's the best thing he's ever had.

There's a knock at the door. "You alright, love?"

Hunter heaves. He can't take deep enough breaths. "Don't fucking call me that."

There's no response for a moment. The air is almost unnaturally still. Then, softly, "I needed to see."

He can't help it. He wrenches open the door, takes all of the anger and pain and rage and hurt and agony and _pushes_. His hands connect with Red's chest and he shoves the vampire as hard as he can, putting every ounce of the last three weeks into it. Red stumbles, tries to catch himself, crushes the nightstand under his hand instead. 

Hunter is on him in an instant, driving his fist into Red's face so hard he can feel bones break. He goes until his hand aches, until there's so much blood on it he can't see his own skin. He goes until the rage has quieted, the storm has passed, and Red's face looks like a representation of his name.

He grabs the broken leg of the night stand. It's bulky, but it's wooden and pointy. It'll do the job he tried to do in the woods, however many nights ago that was. God, he doesn't even know how long he was out. He points the stake directly as Red's chest, pressing against his heart, and waits. He wants to see the vampire's fucking reaction to the human who bested him. To the human who survived him.

"Look at me!" 

It should be a yell. He thinks of it as a yell. But it's a grunt. A grunt of exhaustion and pain and so hurt he can't even breathe. He tries again. It's a whisper this time. Hunter decides to stop talking and instead focus on the bright blue eyes boring into his. Even as he stares, Red's wounds begin to stitch back together. He hates that. Punches him again. Doesn't feel so good about it this time.

Red clutches the stake, uses his grip to keep it pinned to his chest. "If it'll make you feel better," he coughs. "Do it, Hunter."

It's the first time Red has really said his name. It makes something warm stir in his gut. He feels disgusted in himself. "I want to," he says, gritting his teeth. Red forces him to push a little harder.

"Then do it."

 _Oh_. He's crying. He doesn't know when that started but now he can feel the tears on his skin and the big, racking sobs that stutter his breathing. "Why?"

He feels a hand push back his hair, cup his cheek, wipe away a tear. He does everything in his goddamn willpower not to lean into it. "Need to keep you safe. Had to test your resilience. Never meant for it to go that far."

"I don't want to die." And for the first time, he realizes that it's true. He _doesn't_ want to die. After so many years, so many nights spent looking at the gun safe like it was the cure for the hole inside him that kept growing, he doesn't feel the need to jump anymore. He doesn't know when that happened, if it was last week or last year. Doesn't know if it'll stop when his meds do. Just knows that for the first time in recent history, he wants to live. More than that. He wants to fucking survive.

Red's eyes soften. "Let me help you."

"W-why..." He stops to find his words. Loosens his grip on the stake. "Why me?"

Red shrugs. As much as he can when he's slumped against the side of a bed. "You're my dream, love. I can't explain it, I just know I would do anything for you. To keep you safe."

"And your solution to that was for me to break multiple bones and almost die?"

"I would never have let you die."

"Red."

Red looks up at his boy, and there's a fierceness to his eyes that sends a tingle down his spine. "I had to know. How well you could fight. If I had to treat you like some sort of damsel."

"And if I proved to be so?"

They level a stare at each other and the corner of Red's mouth ticks up. "Then I would help you learn. Not much of the knight in shining armor type, am I?"

And despite everything, his shaking limbs and tired resolve, Hunter laughs. "Yeah, well, not really the damsel type myself. Distressed maybe, but no damsel."

"I can see that. You gonna let me up now?"

Hunter pushes the stake, getting a grip on it once again. He's not an idiot. He knows Red is his best chance at survival, and for whatever reason, the vampire likes him. He supposes he should ride that until it peters out. "You gonna pull that stunt again?"

Red smiles, hungrily this time, face shifting to accommodate dark eyes and sharp teeth. He twists away too fast for Hunter to follow, shoving the stake out of the way and pushing himself on top of Hunter. He pins the other boy down, hands curled around his wrist, knees on either side of his waist, and leans close to his ear. "Think you could take me?"

Hunter looks back, something between fear and excitement in his eyes. "Think you could kill me?"

Red smiles something hungry and malicious, tinged with exhilaration and something he doesn't quite know yet. He leans down, presses his teeth against Hunter's skin. He knows he would never drink from this boy, _his_ boy, unless absolutely necessary. He isn't a meal, he's a...well Red doesn't quite know what yet but he's definitely a something. Still, feeling the jackrabbit pulse of Hunter's heart under his tongue is one of the only things that makes him feel alive. "You asked me why."

The humor in the room dries up. Hunter's smile slowly fades. He doesn't need to answer, he knows exactly what the vampire is talking about. He just nods, leaning into his comfort. Red sits up and makes sure he meets Hunter's eyes before continuing. "You said someone should remember her name. You were dying, and instead of asking to live, you said that someone should remember her name."

Hunter tilts his head, a smile threatening his lips. He pushes a strand of hair, light and soft, behind Red's ears. "Maybe I'll tell you about her one day."

"Maybe you'll tell me about who you've run from."

Instantly, Red knows he's said something wrong. Hunter tenses, then shoves him off. Red listens without resistance, eyeing the new tension in Hunter's shoulders, the clench of his jaw. The human sits up sharply, rolling onto his feet. He looks out the window into the moon, pale light illuminating his tan face.

"We should go," he says, yanking the bedroom door open with too much force. "We've been here too long."

"Right," Red says, gathering anything useful he can find. "Too long."

They don't say another word.

***

They've driven somewhere down South. Hunter's not sure where, somewhere where days are longer and the nights bring a cool relief. Red isn't happy, even if he was the one who insisted on it. More of the creepy crawlies would be going midwest or north. Except if all the humans were here, but there aren't really humans anywhere, anymore. 

They've got a movie playing in the background. It's quiet, and even though it's daytime, Hunter is tired. They've fallen into a routine of sleeping during the day and hunting at night. Most of the produce and food has rotted by now, another source of the unending assault to his nose. So they'll loot whatever houses they can find for food, also maybe to check that there aren't any demons. They only found one. Red killed it too easily, and maybe even too happily, but Hunter didn't worry about that.

When they're done, after he's raided most of the libraries and bookcases, they go back to whatever house they've shacked up in and sort through everything. Well, that's Hunter's job. Red goes out alone after that, making Hunter promise to keep a stake on him at all times and not to open any door unless it's him. To which Hunter growls that he's _not_ a damsel, as disclosed before, and then Red just snarls at him and leaves, too hungry to put up a fight. It's their own little dance but it works so they've been doing it almost every night.

He knows Red's on edge. There aren't many humans left to start with, and feeding off demons, other vamps, and animals don't settle the hunger inside him. He doesn't condone the feeding off humans part, but he knows it's something Red needs, and the longer he goes without it, the more agitated he gets. 

He tried offering himself, though he doesn't really know why. Could be that Red's smile makes his heart stutter, or the fact that the big and bad vampire prefers to wear pastels and skinny jeans. Either way, when he eventually held out his arm, veins at the ready, Red immediately shoved it away. He could see the start of the change in him, the way his eyes started to bleed into black, the way his resolve was holding on by a thread.

"No. Not happening. Ever." Red's voice had been rough and strained, like he was physically holding himself back.

"Red, you haven't fed in days. You need blood. I've got some. A lot, even!"

The vampire scrunched up his nose. "And I'd like you to keep it away from me."

"Red, come on, it'll be–"

And the snarl Red let out was nothing but pure animal, ripping itself from his chest and reverberating in Hunter's ears. When he looked back, Red's face had changed, veins creeping over his skin and teeth clenched so hard they pierced through his own lips. It's the first slip of control, of _monster_ , Red had shown him since that night in the parking lot. He hated the fear that rolled over him, the way it left goosebumps in its wake.

He knew the exact moment Red smelled it. The shorter boy tensed, gripped the bannister of the house they were in like it was the only thing holding him back. He took a few breaths that he didn't need and shut his eyes. "The answer is no."

Hunter made the mistake of stepping forward, of reaching for him. Red was on him in an instant, pushing him to the wall, nearly crushing him with his strength. Even though he was clearly losing control, he still kept Hunter at arms length, putting as much space between them as he could. "I'll be back before sunrise." He pushed Hunter gently, with that touch that was still so soft, back into the wall, like maybe he could keep him there, and then left.

It's thinking of that moment that Hunter switches the T.V. off. It's the end of the day. They're in the living room, curtains drawn as far as they'll go. Sundown'll happen in about twenty minutes. Red pokes his head up from one of the radios he was inspecting. The channels have been down for weeks now, but Red's been insistent that he can get one of them to play some bloody music, as he puts it. 

Hunter looks away from him, looking at the book he's got in his hands instead. He found it in the daughter's bedroom. _The Tail of Emily Windsnap_. It's an old book, one that predates even his mother, but it was still Hayley's favorite. She had long since outgrown the idea of mermaids and the reading level, but every once in awhile, Hunter would catch her reading it, and she would smile because she knew he had his own comforts. 

He swallows thickly, licking his lips before starting. "My dad died a few months after Hayley was born. I was seven. Freak accident at work killed him and two other people." He tries not to remember the way his mother looked when she got the news. It doesn't work. "We moved into my grandparent's home, on my mom's side. They were nice, for awhile, at least. Mom and Dad had guessed it already, I think. I don't even know if it's something that can be guessed. I just kinda...knew at some point." His hands shake. He grips the book too hard. The pages crinkle under his fingers.

Hunter takes too big of a breath and still can't breathe. "I came out to my mom when I was ten. She got me the implant. It blocked puberty, started hormones, the whole deal. She told me how proud Dad would've been, how strong of a man I'd become. Grandparents didn't think so. I don't...I don't remember much about that night. Mom and Grandpa had a big argument. I always hated when they fought, because Grandpa was always a little mean to me, so I thought he would just be meaner to Mom. I was watching Hayley that night, and she was sleeping but I couldn't. I just remember this bang so loud that it shook the house, and then Mom was stuffing things into bags and then we were gone. We drove the whole night, shacked up at some shelter, and kept going. We went on like that for a few weeks before Mom felt safe enough to settle down. We kinda just decided not to talk about it and Hayley was too young to remember anything so we...moved on I guess."

Red is completely still, looking at Hunter with his too-blue eyes. He nods slightly, telling him to go on. He licks his lips. "It wasn't until I was fifteen that Mom told me the truth. Grandpa never meant to shoot it, I guess. He just wanted to scare me, tell me to stop being sick, to make sure I knew that I belonged in dresses or some other bullshit. Mom caught him first, and she reached for the gun. He accidentally fired and it shot through the window. But then Grandpa aimed it at her and told her to get out, so we ran, and we never looked back. Implant lasts about a decade. I got it changed a few weeks before the epidemic started. Who the hell knows if I'll be around for the next one, but it's one less thing I have to worry about for now."

He meets Red's eyes, trying not to show how fucking scared he was in that night. He held onto Hayley so hard that she woke up. His ears rang for hours and hours after the shot, hands trembling so hard he could barely hold the bag Mom gave to him. He tries to keep all that out, but he can tell that he fails. Miserably.

The air is too still. He's fucked up. Oh god, Red never actually wanted to know. This is too deep for them, for two men who've been doing nothing but speaking in sarcasm since they've met. His heart jacks itself up and he can feel the anxiety attack starting. His legs start that tingly sensation and he loses feeling in them and then his hands start to shake so hard that he can't control them and then–

And then another set cover his. They're calm where his panic, cold where his are warm. Up against his skin, they are paper-white. He looks at them, transfixed. The nails are black. He remembers that. When Red convinced him to paint his toes because, fuck it, it's the apocalypse. And Red's voice is saying something. Hunter can't focus, just looks at the black of those nails.

Red squeezes just a little bit too hard and Hunter comes back, the vampire's voice flooding his ears. 

"Hunter? Love? Come back to me. It's okay."

Slowly, owlishly, like he's coming out of a high, Hunter meets his eyes. "I–" But he doesn't know what to say.

"Why are you so scared? Talk to me." 

His voice is low and soothing. Hunter leans into it, allows it to slow his breathing and steady his hands. "I-I thought you...you might've not wanted to know. That much. About me, I mean."

This time, when Red squeezes his hands, there's an anger behind it. It's not serious but it's sharp. "I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know. I'll take anything you give me, love, no matter how small."

Red smiles, lopsided and easy, and Hunter can't help but give one in return, no matter how shaky. They stay like that for awhile, holding onto each other, and it's times like this that make it easier to forget the smell of death on Red's tongue.

***

Hunter wakes up facing Red. He's not sure when they started sleeping in the same bed, but one night he woke up and Red was just there. He doesn't dislike it, because while Red is asleep, he isn't Red. While he sleeps, Hunter can pretend this is Silas. He doesn't know who Silas is, where he's from, how many years he lived before becoming Red. Doesn't even know _why_ he's Red now, but he can look at him and know that he was once human.

He shifts, and whatever hold Silas has on him tightens. He smiles, taking in the vampire's gaunt appearance. It's been too long again. The bags under his eyes are bruises, his cheeks hollow, the sharpness of his face too-defined. Must be why he's so tired. 

Silas sighs an exhale, even though he doesn't breathe. "You're a bad actor," Hunter says, starting to sit up.

Red smiles even though his eyes are still closed. He loops his other arm around Hunter's waist, the other one crushed under the human, and pulls him closer. "Sun won't be down for awhile. Go back to sleep."

"Gotta pee."

With a groan, Red releases him. "Stupid human bodily functions."

"I'll be back."

And he is. When he gets back, he can tell Red still isn't asleep, but he hasn't moved. When Hunter slides back in, under the covers the other man has so desperately hogged, Red's on him like a leech. He huffs another breath on Hunter's neck before going still, and even though he can't tell if he's asleep or not, Hunter drifts off anyway.

***

Red paces by the door. The last bit of sunlight leaks through the closed curtains, the bars to his prison. Agitated, he needs the hunt like an addict, feels the symptoms of his hungry withdrawal gnawing at him. He can hear Hunter shuffling around the kitchen, the tick of the stove as it turns on. He can hear the beat of his heart, the race of his fucking human pulse. He slams his head against the floor, hoping it'll knock him out until the moon wakes him. Doesn't work. Just makes the floor crack.

His fingers twitch at his side and he can't control his face anymore. He can feel it shift, painless and right. He likes his fangs, the rush of power he gets when people see them. They fear him. They should. He is a _monster_. 

Hunter's feet land somewhere to his right. Red turns to him, gums aching. He wants Hunter so much right now. Doesn't know if he wants to feed or fuck, maybe both, but god he _wants_. He groans, rolling from his position on the floor to his feet. It's been too long since he's fed. Days that feel like weeks, and it's evident in the belt on his hips. He had to punch new holes in it. He's living the only nightmare vampires have. He's wasting away. 

Animal blood, what little he can get, helps. Not enough. Some. His head scrambles. Hunter's lost weight, too. He hates that. He's a perfect pillow, blend of marshmallow and rock, and he's _warm_. Warm in every way Red is cold and he likes it too much. The last of the sun is starting to dip.

"You got the stake?" he growls, voice unable to become anything else. The excitement is racing through him, fueling his hunger. He caught a scent when they drove into this place the night before. Humans. So many of them. Humans who think they have a better shot together, but it's their goddamn homing beacon and he can't wait to go to it.

"Yeah, Red."

"No opening the door unless it's my knock, got it?"

"Got it."

Red smirks, hand nearly crushing the doorknob. "Gonna be a good boy?"

"You're gonna be dust if you say that again."

He wants to touch him. Doesn't. Knows he won't be able to stop. "I'll be back before the sun."

Hunter looks away from him. Twirls the stake in his strong fingers. "Good."

And it's so different from the _Whatever, Red,_ that happens every other night. Red wants to jump him, slam him against the wall so hard it fucking shatters. He opens the door, letting the slight burn of the last few sunny seconds snap him back. He wants to say something back but the night eats him alive.

He runs, letting nose and instinct so deep it runs from him to the earth guide him. Wherever they are, it's flat. Flat roads and dry air. He thinks they're somewhere in Arizona, which is in the figure eight they're starting to make. Maybe he'll break off of it soon, travel up to Canada, find some big fucking moose to bleed so he doesn't have to leave Hunter unprotected every night.

Fuck. He's so fucking whipped. But not tonight. Tonight he's Red. Red and all of the terrible things he's done. Red and all of the portraits he's painted. 

Somewhere, a mile east, he can smell them. He lets himself get worked up, smears dirt and cuts himself so he can add blood to the mix. He forces himself to huff out too-harsh breaths, and then he bangs on the door. He meets no resistance when someone yanks it open, which means the owner is long since dead.

A man greets him. He's tall and pale like himself, though there's not a hint of demon in him. Red has to stop himself from smiling right then, instead widening his eyes and looking over his shoulder. "Please! You've gotta help me. S-something's after me!" He inches ever-so-closer.

The man is hesitant. Red's eyes cut from him to a woman who's just as tall as the man, but she has more muscle on her. He knows she'll put up more of a fight. There's no movement, so Red grabs his middle, doubles over. "Please! I-I can't go any farther."

The man's hands meet his shoulders and drag him inside despite the cries from some of the humans. There's five in total, enough to feed him for days. He smiles once the door shuts, taking stock of where everyone is, and when he rises from his curled stance, he can feel his fangs poking at his lower lip.

The man who helped him is dead before he hits the floor. Red keeps an eye on the woman before moving to a teenager. She's stuck her mouth open in an empty scream. Red makes it quick, never was one to care about kids. He expects the tall woman to be the one to watch, but she's scrambling back, hands shaking so hard she drops her knife. Her fear is palpable, and Red can taste it, a promise on his tongue.

He's rejuvenated, can feel the power and rush inside of him, the way his strength comes back to him. He feels like he's slept a century. He cracks the neck of another man, father of the teen, it seems like. He'll have to save that blood for later, same with the mother. They lay on top of each other, forever staring into their dull eyes.

Red advances on the tall woman, who has found herself again. She grips a stake with a steadier hand, swiftly jumps over the couch, and shoves the table over on her way. She's still so fucking scared, the sound of her heart reverberating in his ears. It's music, his favorite song.

He grips the edge of the table and throws it so hard it splinters against the wall. "Wanna know my name?" he asks, stalking closer, eyes following her every move.

She doesn't answer, keeps scrambling back, and this isn't fun anymore. Red leaps, sending both of them to the floor, and he pins her with a foot to her neck. She squirms, desperate, eyes darting like a caught rabbit. "People call me Red. Some think it's because it's my favorite color, which is wrong, because my favorite color is cobalt."

The woman's eyes meet his, and he can see the second she loses her will. Too fast for his liking. Hunter would've kept fighting. Hunter would've said something stupid to anger whatever he was fighting. Hunter would've offered himself to be a sacrifice, because he's an idiot and Red is starting to feel things for him. But not tonight. Tonight is not the night for all of these weird, entirely too human feelings he's starting to have. Tonight is the night he gets to paint.

He hauls the woman up by her throat, claws pressing into her skin. They sink in easily, just enough to make her bleed. It mixes with her tears, streaming down her face so fast she has to keep blinking just to see. "The real reason," he smiles, tracing one finger through the blood, "is because all my portraits are in one. Single. Color." He emphasizes each word with his nails, raking them slowly across her neck.

He wants to lay her down on the couch, use the wall as his canvas, and paint the curvature of her button nose, the soft angle of her jaw, the curl of her hair. But then she passes out, whether its from fear or lack of oxygen, he's not sure. And he's bored. And frustrated. Red drains her dry, then gets to work finding containers for the blood in the other two. It'll save him from having to go out again for a few days, more time for them to travel. 

He finds an odd collection of mason jars, deems it acceptable, and gets to work.

***

Hunter is reading when Red comes back. He refuses to fall asleep. Not just because it's not safe, but because at some point, he started caring about if the vampire came back or not. He's tired, tracking the same words on the same page for the last thirty minutes. Just when he thinks he's going to pass out the door bursts open, Red coming in. 

"Good night?" he asks, though he doesn't really expect Red to answer. He never really does. He's a little grumbly, words made of growls and sharp looks, but in the end they always end up going to bed, even if Red is a little pushy about it.

Red growls some sort of response and walks up to Hunter. He expects the shorter boy to push him to the bedroom as usual, but instead Red just stares. He's still in hunting face, eyes so black they seem to have stolen the night. He's an arm's length away from Hunter, just looking at him, not moving, not blinking, not doing anything.

Hunter takes a step forward. Red growls. Hunter stops. Red growls again, takes a step, and then seems to growl at himself. Then it's just that weird silence again. Hunter's eyes flash to the stake he left on the couch. It's under his tented book.

"Red, can you talk to me?"

And it's like the man snaps back to it, because he stalks, backing Hunter up until he hits a table. "Gotta...sleep. Smell tired." And his words are too slurred and jumbled to make any sense, but Hunter gets the point.

Hunter tenses when Red puts his hands on either side of his face, staring at him with eyes that do not blink. He sucks in a breath when Red leans closer, nosing up and down his throat, licking over the pulse point. With shaky hands that he wishes were sturdy, with a heart that almost leaps out of his chest, he says, "I think I should sleep on the couch."

At this, Red pulls Hunter forward sharply, hands moving to his hips and locking Hunter in place. "No."

"Red, stop." He sounds firmer now, more sure of himself. His hands have stopped shaking and he anchors himself before trying to wrench away from the vampire. It doesn't work. Red keeps holding him, unwilling to let him go. 

"You're with me. Always with me."

He's not getting out of this. Not tonight. So he concedes. "Let's just go to bed. I'm tired, Red."

Red growls again, low and thunderous. Hunter is so close he can hear the way it comes from the chest, a noise so primal it seems to be drawn straight from his core. "Silas," he says, dragging Hunter up the stairs. "Call me Silas."

Hunter smiles, allows Silas to drag him without much effort behind it. He watches as the color comes back to the vampire's eyes, how his teeth shift back and his face stares sleepily at him. "All the time?"

There's a flash in Silas's eyes that Hunter can't read, something he isn't sure he wants to. Silas shakes his head. "Just let me be Silas tonight."

Hunter nods and opens the door to the bedroom. It must've been for siblings, because there's two twin beds on either side of the wall. Silas glares at them for a moment before tossing the dresser between them into the wall, smashing it, and then dragging the two beds together.

He didn't have to be that violent, but Hunter gets the point. They're together tonight. He pretends that doesn't mean another night of Silas watching him sleep, of pretending to sleep when he can feel the other man right next to him, the nonexistent heat he gives off, the way he wakes up to him and wants to run his hands through his hair. 

He doesn't know if it's the fact that Silas is the only thing he has right now. He doesn't know if this is some fucked up version of Stockholm Syndrome. All he knows is that this is the realest thing he's felt in ages, and he wants it so fucking bad it hurts. 

So when he turns the lights off, he dives under the covers, turns his back to Silas, and pretends to sleep.

***

Hunter drives the next night. Red is still tired, he can see that, so he drives to somewhere he assumes is north, and just keeps going. There's no speed limits anymore, and no one to stop him if he runs a red light, but he finds himself stopping at them anyway. It makes it feel like _before,_ even if _before_ is a dead dream. 

Red is silent, looking out the window and picking at his fingers. If Hunter didn't know any better, he would say that the man is nervous, but he's not sure if that's an emotion Red can even feel. Suddenly, he speaks, and it comes out a too quietly for a man who's always loud. "Aren't you going to ask me?"

"Ask you what?" He doesn't take his eye off the road, just flips the right turn signal.

"Why my name is Red?"

Hunter does his best not to react. Of course he wants to know. But it is not his question to ask, just Red's to answer. "If you want to tell me, then do."

Red shakes his head. He doesn't speak for the rest of the night. 

***

The gas station they find is abandoned. Looted already, though there's enough left behind to make it interesting. They don't need gas, the sun's charged the car enough, but they stop anyway. There's some energy drinks left and candy bars that haven't gone bad yet. Red finds a dirty magazine and flips through it at the counter. 

Hunter pokes through the books that have been left behind. He's collected a few, thrown them in the trunk. He misses reading, and decides that the next time they stop they should find an abandoned bookstore or something and browse for however the fuck long he wants to. His fingers still over a title. _They_. He barely even thought about it, but his future includes Red, too, and he wonders when he stopped thinking about splitting from him. He meant to, initially. Vampires aren't reliable, but Red comes home every sunrise. And he looks after Hunter, and Hunter thinks he looks after Red. They've got each other, in some weird way, and it fits. So it's _them_ now, he guesses, and continues to read the trashy romance titles.

He picks one up that looks bearable and curls a hand around it. Red's up by the front and Hunter's in the back, by the one bathroom that smells too dubious for him to peak into. "Hunter, love? You alright?" Red calls out. He doesn't even look up from the magazine.

"Yeah. Just looking." 

"And I'm enjoying the view."

Hunter snaps around, stake in his hand. He knows immediately it's not a vampire. Mostly because vampires don't have horns or eyes that look like slits. He would bet, by the look on its face, that it still enjoys humans in one way or another. "Fuck off," he says, pulling the gun out from his waistband. Even if a gun won't kill it, it'll sure as hell slow it down. He was lucky to find ammo in the last house. And five dead bodies. But mostly the ammo. 

He shoots the demon in the kneecap, but the thing barely flinches. "Nice mouth, too."

He fires again, watches it do nothing, fires a third time. The demon barely seems to notice, just turns his lips up in a sneer. Before he can do anything Red is in front of him, guarding him with game face on. 

"Give me a fucking reason," he says, his anger pulsing through his veins. But even then, he looks excited for the hunt.

"You're just a vampire. I'll have your head. But not before I have his." The demon quite literally _throws_ Red into a wall of shelves, knocking him into it. It's the first time since they've met that Hunter has seen Red not win. 

"You want me? You'll have to catch me first." He shoots his last bullet in the chamber at what he thinks is the demon's ankle. This time, the thing does curse, and Hunter takes off. He's not as fast as a vampire, or as strong as the thing pursuing him, but he can _run_. 

He pumps his legs as hard as they'll go, passing the car and opting for the grass area near the parking lot, which has grown so tall that it'll nearly cover him. Nearly. He's small, more agile than the demon is, so he does a quick turn before running in an opposite direction. It won't slow the thing down for long, but long enough. 

There's not a lot of things a stake to the heart won't kill. Hunter has learned this over the weeks. So he grabs a low hanging tree branch and hauls himself up. He wasn't in the best of shape before this. Sure, he ran, but exercise wasn't a way of life. He doesn't think it is now. But he has grown muscle from staying alive, has starved the fat that kept him comfortable and grown into the breadth of his shoulders. 

The demon has its back turned, still looking for him as Hunter crouches low on the branch, balancing with one hand. He knows he's fucked up when he has to shift his weight. The branch creaks, and quicker than he thought possible of the whatever the fuck is in front of him, the demon lashes out and has a hand around the human's throat before he can blink. 

He nearly blacks out immediately with the force of the grip. Somehow he manages to cling to consciousness, enough to see Red coming in fast and hot. The vampire looks more monster than anything else now. Fury paints his face with a delicate hand, veins black and creeping over his skin like they're alive. His eyes, wide and devoid of color, focus on nothing and everything at once.

He crashes into the demon, who drops Hunter on impact. He crumples to the ground, hacking up what must be a lung. Or blood. Maybe a little bit of both. Air has never tasted sweeter, and when he turns around, he sees the demon is struggling to get his footing back.

"I've heard about you," it says, slowly crawling to a stand. Red is light on his feet, dancing around the thing with precision and power. "They call you Red."

"So they do."

"Have you ever showed him why? If you don't, I would be happy to."

It's not the right thing to say. Red _roars_ , a sound that cuts through the air like a knife and knocks the breath out of Hunter's lungs. This isn't his fight anymore, he's too hurt for that, but he wants to get up and beat anything that hurts Red in such a way.

Fuck. He's so fucked. He cares too fucking much. More than he's cared about anyone besides his family. _Fuck._

There's a sickening crunch and then a thump that sounds like an earthquake. When Hunter looks up, the monster is staring at him with unblinking eyes, one of its horns sticking out of its chest. Red is heaving even though he doesn't breathe, slowly tracking from the monster's fatal wound to Hunter's eyes.

His own are slowly bleeding back to normal, the blue so sharp it could be glass. When Red gets to him, helping him up with a touch that's still as gentle as the first time they met, Hunter can't hold back anymore. He thinks he won't know what to do if Red doesn't react. If Red is disgusted by him, if he never thought that way, if those days together were just to pass time until the night. 

But he can't think of that at the moment. He won't. So he doesn't. He just goes for it, goes for everything he can when his throat feels like sandpaper and he's got a headache that may just kill him.

He kisses Red. Kisses Silas like he may wake up to the vampire gone forever. Like he may wake up to realize he's alone again. Kisses him with hands cupped around his face like he'll never be able to say goodbye.

His lips are soft, softer than he would have thought, and after a moment, when the vampire doesn't respond, Hunter starts to pull away. "I-I-I'm sorry," he whispers, voice hoarse from the force of his kiss or maybe the strangling, "let's just not–"

And then Red is pulling him back, grip so iron clad that Hunter couldn't get away if he tried, and this time it's Silas's hands on him that are pulling him forward, crashing their mouths together in a way that's too much teeth and hunger to be truly pleasurable but god is it _good_. By the time they break apart, Hunter's lips are swollen and tingling with overuse. 

"S-Silas?" he asks, not pulling out of his grip. Realizing the vampire might not let him anyway.

"Fuck, Hunter." He doesn't say anything more, just pulls him back in, this time going slow, sweet, like something out of a movie. 

When they finally, finally break apart, it's to move away from the dead body and back towards the car. They can't waste much more time without finding shelter, unless he wants Silas to be dust in the middle of another make out session. That thought makes his heart jump. 

"So you..."

Silas smiles a Red smile and opens the driver's side door. "Love, you think I would kill a Frolotn'r demon for anyone? They _eat_ vampires."

"Is it just because–"

Silas levels him with a stare so intense Hunter thinks he might burn under it. "Been wanting to do that since I found you."

Hunter scoffs, sliding into the passenger's seat. "You're a vampire, you could've taken that whenever you wanted."

And the vampire grips Hunter's chin so fast his head spins. This stare is accented by the creepings of black seeping into his irises, of the threat of change looming over his face. "Not from you, love. Never from you."

"Red why... Why did you save me?" Hunter hardens his voice with the question, the question he hasn't dared asked since that night. He never really wanted to know the answer. But now, as Red holds him, as they stare at each other with new found ferocity, he wants to know. _Needs_ to know. 

Red doesn't drop his hand. If anything, he holds on just a little bit harder. The words come out so softly Hunter has to strain to hear them.

"You smelled like home."

***

Red wakes up before Hunter. Sometimes he lets himself sleep even if he doesn't need it, knows it makes it easier for Hunter to sleep. Humans need sleep to heal, and with a dark bruise over Hunter's neck, the man could use a lot of it. The sun will be going down soon, an instinctual pull for him to wake up and feed.

It's been too long again. The need thrums in him, pulses in him like a living thing. He tracks Hunter's breath, can hear every pump of his heart, thinks about how sweet he tastes. He can't forget the time he drank from the man beside him. It was wrong, didn't feel right, because he knew Hunter didn't want it, and that was enough to make it turn sour in his mouth.

But now he knows how readily Hunter will offer himself. How easy it would be to take it, to take fucking all of it, how good it would be. He traces lightly over Hunter's tan throat, down to his shoulders and over his bare chest.

He's got scars there. He told Red once that he can't feel everything on his chest anymore, that there's spots where he can't feel anything at all, not since the surgery. He traces over those, not wanting to wake him, and settles a hand lightly over his heart. He can feel the pulse beat under his hand, the way it jumps slightly when his other hand dances over Hunter's wrist.

The change snaps over him so fast it feels like nothing's happened at all. And then his tongue is swiping a stripe over Hunter's neck, feeling the pulse against him like he can taste it already, and his teeth are grazing Hunter's beautiful skin and his jaw aches with the need to _bite_. 

Hunter's awake before Red can fling himself away. The vampire's practically plastered against the wall by the time Hunter sits up fully, hand on his neck. "Red?" he asks, tone still thick with sleep.

Red wants nothing more than to go to him, to run his hands through his soft hair and kiss him until he doesn't know what day it is. But he can't. Not until he's fed again. On something that isn't Hunter. "Go back to sleep," he growls, and it comes out a lot harsher than he means it to. He hates a little, how Hunter goes tense at his tone. He hates a little how soft he has gotten.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. Just skipped too many meals."

He sees Hunter come alive, the meaning of his words waking him up the rest of the way. Cautiously, he removes the hand from his neck, looking at Red with worry splashed across his eyes. And Red knows what he's going to say. Except, this time, he will not say no. "Don't say anything. Not one fucking word."

The silence between them is tight and heavy. He needs blood. A lot of it. He's not sure where the closest human next to Hunter is but he itches to find out. Animals will not curb the raw hunger inside him, a pull so deep he isn't sure where it starts or stops.

He wants Hunter so fucking badly it hurts, so instead, he throws himself against the wall, cracking it. "You have a stake?" he asks, digging his claws into his palms.

Hunter nods, pulling it out from under his pillow. "Yeah."

"Lock the door behind me, okay?"

"Yeah."

Red takes that as enough, has to leave before he can't, and runs out the door. They're in the remains of a city that's just a husk now. Buildings that stand empty, bare bones of a society, but he can follow the scent of fear as far as it'll take him. It leads him to the remains of a half-crumpled skyscraper. He finds a half-crumpled human there, too.

They're still alive, the air potent with their fear and pain. As he gets closer, he can see it's a man. He's probably in his mid-thirties, legs trapped beneath a support beam. If he had to guess, he'd say the man's been there about two days. "I'm here to help," Red says. 

The man looks at him with so much gratitude he _almost_ feels guilty about biting into him. But not quite. Because his blood is hot and fresh and so fucking human. The man is B+, and he thinks that once upon a time, he would've gone for something rarer. He doesn't have that luxury now.

It's far too soon before the man goes limp in his arms, already weak from days of dying. He finds a few rabbits, but that's not enough. He needs enough to feel full, to be drunk on the feeling of blood, to forget that he looked at Hunter like he was ever an option. 

There's another human somewhere. As he follows their trail, in a way that's more animal than human, more demon than not, he realizes it's a mother and daughter. He finds them sleeping in a car and doesn't even bother with semantics. He kills the mother first, her fight a dance on his tongue, the taste of her adrenaline a burn in the back of his throat.

The daughter, a young thing, barely does anything. He feeds on her for the kill, and she's like a wine that hasn't aged enough. When he's done, he puts them back into the car and pushes the car into a parking spot instead of the middle of the road. 

He's more monster than man out here, a way of life that is comfortable and easy. Easy to let go of everything that made him human, of everything that wants to cling to his conscience. Easy to slip back into the vampire that viewed Hunter as prey. The vampire that still wants to.

There's another human miles away, somewhere they must have thought was safe. He's got skin almost as pale as Red's, eyes green and brown. Red goes up to him, knows immediately what he wants to do. He wants to map out that face, every inch of it, to paint the scar on the man's cheek and the bow of his lips.

"Don't worry," he says, fear clogging his nose, "I'll make it slow."

***

The knock comes just as Hunter thinks he won't be able to stay awake anymore. He'd spent the night foraging, sneaking to the neighboring buildings and houses for food. The electricity is still on, dull hums to fill the empty night. He found some canned things that are still good, granola and some protein bars. He'd long since given up on fresh meat unless he wanted to catch it himself, and he can't exactly stomach the thought.

He shoves all the food into his bag and opens the door, the sun just starting to come up. He's drawn all the curtains and shut off all the lights. It still won't be enough. There's a basement with no windows, so he guesses they'll sleep there. 

Red's swaying lightly on his feet, pupils dilated, face almost stuck in a half-change. "Good night?" he asks, opening the door for him.

Red hums, leaning into Hunter. Not for the first time does Hunter like that he's taller. That he can wrap his arms around the vampire and hold him close. They stay like that for a few moments, until the sun starts to creep past the doorway. Then they go down to the basement, and Red shoves him into the couch. 

He crawls on top of Hunter, straddling his hips, putting his hands on either side of the human's head and cradling it as gently as he can. His thumbs stroke Hunter's cheekbones. "I want to tell you, love," he says, bending down to kiss him. "I'm sorry about tonight."

Hunter shakes his head, because he understands. Even if it's crazy, even if he would've let Red do it, he _understands_. "Red–"

The vampire shakes his head, doesn't let go of Hunter. "My name was Silas then. I was a doctor."

Hunter takes a deep breath. He barely wants to move, the weight of Silas on him a comforting thing. "When were you born?"

"April of 1768. The Seven Years' War had ended a few years previously, and we won, but we were in ruins. As with every war, when poverty hit, it hit hard. I wanted to leave, to get out of London. I wanted to help the small villages. I wanted to go to school to become a physician and help those who couldn't afford one or find one in their community." He stops, slowly swiping his thumb over Hunter's cheekbone. "I was trying to be a good man."

Hunter smiles, but he can't say anything back. There are no reaffirmations that can be made. 

Red gives a small smile that's just a curve of lips before starting again. "When I was twenty-three, I met a girl in school. She was beautiful, Hunter. Beautiful blonde hair, pale skin, and well-fed. Back then, that was a big draw. Well-fed meant you had enough money to actually eat."

Red settles down some more, absently running his hands through Hunter's hair. Hunter stops one, curls his fingers around Red's, and squeezes. A silent _keep going_. Red sighs and nods. He can't stop now. "She courted me. I thought she was a noble of some sort, with her clothes and the way she spoke. I never put together that I only saw her at night. I never thought anything of it. I fell head over heels for her. And then, after six months of dancing, she took me to a private garden. Sex before marriage was to be done in secret, and it was looked down upon. A sin. But I was twenty-three and so _human_ that I just gave in. And then she killed me."

Hunter squeezes Red's hand so hard it hurts even his own fingers, but the other man barely reacts. He just tucks a piece of hair behind Hunter's ears and closes his eyes for a moment. "It hurt. Not for long, but it did. To become a vampire, a vampire has to feed on you, and then, on the brink of death, you feed on them. When you die, you'll come back a vampire, but you have to feed within the first night or you'll die forever. I don't know why she turned me, but she helped me through the transition. She gave me my first kill, taught me how to control my new strength and senses. After you turn, you're not human anymore. It's easy to forget human emotions and the empathy. It's easy to lean into the demon side. Which is why so many vampires do it, myself included."

A look crosses over Red's face, something dark and angry. It's gone before Hunter can ask about it, though this time he wishes he could. "What happened to her?" he asks, trying to call Red's eyes back to him, trying to tell him it's okay. Trying to make those blue eyes actually look at him.

Red shrugs, looking away again. "I killed her. She was older than me by about a hundred years, and for a vampire, time is power and strength. But I didn't care. I hated her for taking my life away from me. She banished me to the night, tore me away from my family, from the life I wanted to live. I kept only pain and anger with me, and there was one outlet for it. So I killed her. After that, it was easy to let go of those emotions, too. All that was left was greed and hunger. So I took whatever I wanted, and I had fun with it.

"I traveled across the seas, I fed like a fucking king. I grew older, stronger, outlived most the vampires around me. It was a high like nothing you'll ever know, Hunter, to have time bow to me, to not care about anything except myself. Somewhere, I started to make art, leaving portraits behind me. It was my trail, a mark to let people know to fear me, to watch out for me. I painted them all, let my victims watch as I painted their dying moments on a canvas. It was thrilling, part of the hunt that made everything so much _more_ than it was before."

Hunter stills under the man on top of him. He realizes that he didn't know anything about Red, about the vampire he is, about the vampire he continues to be. Because as he speaks, Red is gripping Hunter's shirt, twisting his fists in it like it's exhilarating just to talk about. Glee like that is not felt for what's been left behind. His stomach twists. Red's a serial killer. He killed out of _want,_ not necessity. He killed simply because he could. Because it was fun.

And Hunter should care. He should be disgusted. He should hate Red for everything he is, everything he's done, everything he keeps doing when he goes out at night. But he doesn't. He just knows that Red isn't killing _him_ and he isn't killing in front of him. He knows Red almost died to keep him safe, that he has soft lips and softer hair. He knows that the world is different now, and empathy could kill him just as much as apathy. He knows the definitions of good and bad are too warped for him now.

Red's eyes meet his for the first time in the conversation. "After awhile, Silas got lost. He was buried somewhere I couldn't find, and the towns I visited knew me as Red. Knew me as the monster that left bloody faces in its wake. I didn't care about them, didn't care about anything, it was so easy to let my humanity drift away." He cups Hunter's cheek, thumb swiping over his cheekbone again. "Until I found you. I didn't want to care about you. I wanted to kill you, but something about you makes it easier. I don't really know what _it_ is, maybe it's everything, but you make it better. I would kill for you Hunter, I would, without a moment's hesitation. I would do anything to keep you safe. I don't care who the choice is between. I don't care if it's between the world and you, I will _always_ choose you. Do you understand?"

Hunter nods slowly, lets his fingers encircle Red's wrists. The vampire lets him gently pull his hands down, until both of Red's palms are over Hunter's chest. He feels like there isn't enough air to breathe. "Why are you telling me this? Now?"

"Because of that stupid fucking demon. I didn't want you to find out from someone else. Leave if you want, but I've told you now. I'm still evil, love. I am not a good man, never will be again, but around you, it's easier to remember that I used to be one."

Hunter takes a deep breath and slowly sits up, forcing Red to get off him. "I need some fresh air. I just...I need a minute. To process." 

"I can't–"

"Yeah, I know. I just need some sun. Give me a minute, Silas."

Red tenses up next to him, voice clipped and short. "Yeah, take a hundred."

Hunter sighs and looks down on the man he has somehow fallen for. The man he thinks he might–

"I'll be back. I promise."

He walks up the basement door, can feel Red's eyes on him, and goes to the front. He hasn't seen the sun in days. Humans need sun. They need fruits and vegetables, too, and lack of all the vitamins is starting to get to him. If he's not careful, he'll die of some dumb shit like scurvy.

The sun feels good on his skin, warm and welcoming in a way the night will never manage. It'll be hours until the moon's out again, which is why, when the night comes to greet him, he never sees it coming.

***

There's a tongue stuck to the roof of Hunter's mouth. He's pretty sure it's his, dry and thick, but he can't seem to move it. His mouth is a desert. His head throbs with a pain that might make it crack open, and then he's throwing up. He can barely turn, the clanking sound of metal interrupting the throbbing in his head. 

He's throwing up onto a cement floor. It reeks of rot and decay, and when he sees the pile of dead bodies against the wall, he knows why. When he lies back down, he realizes he's on something flat and hard, like a table, and there's a weight against his ankles and wrist. When he tries to move, he can't, and the metal clanks again. He realizes, through the fog in his head, that they're chains.

The ceiling is far above him, and the expanse of the building makes him think he's in an expired factory. He tries to sit up again, but even that small movement makes his head swim and he feels bile again. His mouth tastes of it, and that alone is another thing to set him off, but he swallows and breathes through the episode. He can't afford to lose anything else, he already feels weak.

"Where am I?" It's supposed to come out a whisper, but the words barely go past his lips, and when they do, they're not really words. More like soft breaths that can't become anything else.

"Oh, you threw up again. Did that on yourself already." It's a man's voice. Low and scratchy, like he'd been smoking four packs a day for forty years. "Looks like you've got yourself a nasty bump there."

A hand traces lightly over Hunter's forehead, and without thinking, he jerks himself away. It sends another wave of pain and nausea through his body that's harder to fight. "What's happening?" He can't think, can't see past the pain in his head.

"I would think it's quite obvious. I've kidnapped you."

The man leans down, and Hunter gets a good look at him. He's in his mid-forties, but in impeccable shape. One of those bodies that's more muscle than anything else, shirt straining against his arms as he crosses them, jeans hugging his hips. His skin is tan, more olive than Hunter's light brown. If it weren't such a fucked up situation, Hunter would be salivating over the man. As it is, he wants to see him dead. If moving didn't hurt so much, he would strangle the dude himself.

"Why?" He's getting his voice back, even if it's just something over a whisper. 

"I've been following you for a week now. You would think that vampire of yours would notice."

"What the fuck? Who are you?"

The man bends down, grips Hunter's cheeks in one hand and squeezes so hard bruises will form a perfect print. "Name's Michael. Used to know Red back in the day. Back when I was about your age, actually."

"He won't come for me." It's a lie, he knows. Because if Red were to just disappear, Hunter wouldn't stop for anything. He knows Red would do the same.

"No, I suppose not right now. Still a couple hours until the sun goes down. Which means we have some time to get to know one another."

Hunter sets his jaw. "I won't tell you anything."

"Oh, who said anything about talking?"

***

Hunter had only understood the term _white hot pain_ once before. It was when he was seven and broke his collarbone. It was a compound fracture, the kind where the bone breaks through the skin. He remembers screaming so hard it tore his throat. He remembers the impact after falling out of the tree, watching the bone break skin a split second before he felt it. 

Now, he understands again. A shock of pain so hot it burns him from the inside out tears through him. He recognizes the feel of it now, the sharp force of Michael's dagger. He stokes it in a fire first, hot enough that it slides over his skin like butter. That it cauterizes the wound as fast as it makes it.

He doesn't scream anymore, doesn't have the voice even if he tried. The knife slides into his calf, two inches above the last cut and six below the one in his thigh. The sun is starting to disappear now, and he isn't sure how two hours could take two hundred years to pass, but the world seems to slow down every time that knife enters his body.

He's covered in sweat, fear clinging to his skin like a perfume. He doesn't want to feel scared anymore, wants to shut it off, but a part of him hopes it will make finding him easier, so he leaves it, even if it's eating him alive. Michael leaves the dagger where it is, grips the handle, and twists it. 

Whatever is left of Hunter's voice comes out then. He can feel the slice to his muscles, the flaying of his tendons. He'll never be able to walk again. He'll never be able to talk again. "I'll die before he gets here," he whispers. He can't voice anymore, doesn't know if he can even breathe anymore, and the words slip out like a lost breath.

"No, you won't. It hurts, I know, but you'll be alive. Just long enough so I can see his face when I kill you." Michael takes the dagger out of Hunter's calf and cleans it off with a towel that's long since turned red. 

Now that he's been around, he can see that Michael is clinging to reality by a thread, and it's slowly starting to unspool. He smells of decay and rot and desperation, a car wreck waiting to happen. A car wreck he's being forced to watch, and even though this man has been ripping screams out of him like it's his sole purpose in life, Hunter can't help but feel for him.

Because at least he has Red. At least he isn't alone. Michael so clearly is, and as he brandishes the knife to his neck, a piece of him that's already bruised and bloody, Hunter turns towards him. He looks him in the eye, doesn't stand down, and says, "I'm sorry."

Michael's grip on the knife falters, slips against his skin and opens a gash the younger man can hardly feel. "What?"

"I'm sorry. For whatever he did to you."

The point of the knife releases its pressure for just a few moments before returning. Michael's eyes don't blink, stare impossibly wide. "My wife..."

"You're hurting me because he hurt her. I get it." Maybe this calm should be worrying, because maybe he should be so furious it burns him. But he isn't. He is scared for his life, scared that Michael really will kill him. There's also nothing he can do. "I forgive you."

Silence covers them like a blanket. Michael keeps looking at him, hands shaking like he may just shake right out of his skin. He swallows. "I was a killer. For money. I can kill you."

"I know. But you'll kill me knowing I forgive you."

"Shut up!"

"Yes, Hunter, I second that."

The voice reverberates around the room and without registering, Hunter relaxes, just the slightest. The metal clanks with his exhale. Red steps into the room, and this is a Red Hunter has never seen before. He is more monster than man, body morphed into something that could never pass as human, something Hunter isn't sure ever was.

His veins are black, living things, creeping over his skin like vines. His eyes are pieces of night that are devoid of light, menacing and looking everywhere at once. Fingers, once slender and soft, are now adorned with four inch claws, a weapon that is an extension of himself. And his teeth. Glinting in the moon's light, sharp enough to cut diamonds, too big and sharp for his mouth, taking up more space than they can, cutting even the vampire's skin. He is something so primal and raw that Hunter can feel his presence and wants to cower. He is power.

Michael must feel it, too, because he falters. Hunter can see the hairs on Michael's arm raise, the goosebumps following suit. It's only a moment of uncertainty, because then his grip tightens and the knife point slices into his skin. "Make one move and he's dead."

"Now, no need to rush things." It's supposed to be said as a plea, but Red's smile is anything but worried. It's lazy and languid on his face, blood dotting the corner of his mouth, skin cutting and healing as fast as he can bleed. It's a horrifying sight, his smile. 

The vampire saunters forward, eyes narrowing as Michael pushes the knife slightly harder into Hunter's neck. "I remember her, you know. Maya. Beautiful young thing. Was she a singer? Because _damn_ that girl had good pipes."

"I will do nothing more to him than you did to her."

Red scoffs, running his finger over an abandoned machine. "You think your hands could recreate my work?" His smile is wider this time, bordering on deranged and predatory. "I've had centuries of practice. You kill and leave the bodies, I make art out of mine, masterpieces to be adored for centuries. Be happy, Michael, I made her eternal."

There's a moment of tension so tight Hunter's afraid the world might snap. 

Instead, Michael does. 

He takes a gun out of his waistband and points it at the vampire. Red laughs, a hearty thing, hair falling over his eyes. "A gun? Do you–"

But the fire cuts him off, a bang that reverberates off the wall. A flash of light that shows Red's widened eyes for only a second, the burning smell of gunpowder filling the air. Red makes a noise like the air's been punched out of him and goes down too hard. Hunter strains to see him, to make his head stop spinning so he can look over and make sure Red's okay because that's what he _does_. He looks after the centuries old man who will never look out for himself. He looks after Red like he's the only thing he's got left because it is. _He_ is, and Hunter will never let him go.

"Please," he begs, turning to Michael, who's hands are shaking. He doesn't know if it's rage or surprise but at that moment he doesn't care. "Please, let me go to him. Please!" He's not even sure if his words come out as words or moaning babbles because his tongue is too thick in his mouth and his brain can't stop sloshing around.

But Michael looks down, something like a forced blankness in his eyes. "I can't."

"If you think that's enough to stop me you're a bloody idiot. I'm over three hundred years old. Do you know what that means?"

Red moves faster than Hunter thought ever possible, a blur concealed by the night. When he slows again, when Hunter's eyes land on him again, he's got Michael dangling, one hand wrapped firmly around his throat. But Hunter has known him a long time, and maybe long isn't long anymore but the apocalypse has a way of turning a month into years.

So he can see Red's straining breath, the way he heaves his chest like he actually needs air. His hand is immovable, cemented around Michael's throat like it was always meant to fit there. "It means I could stand here all day, keep you like this, squeeze until I feel you crumble. But I feel kind today. You had him here for two hours. I'll let you live at least twice that." His hand squeezes Michael's throat so hard the man's eyes nearly pop out of his head. The sound of his wheezing breath makes Hunter want to throw up. 

Red smiles at Michael, fingers tight around him. He leans in close, teeth digging into a vein near Michael's neck, bringing a small trickle of blood. "Yeah, that sounds good. Eight hours, with me, just. Like. This." He enunciates each word by biting different parts of Michael's body, hand never moving, feeding from the man like a buffet.

"Silas." He tries. It doesn't make it out of his mouth. It dies on his tongue, a thought that feels like a curse. 

The room spins when he sits up, a knot forming in the pit of his stomach while the chains clink together. The thing in front of him is not Silas. The thing in front of him is Red, the monster that ruled the night and never backed down. The monster that still lives in him, will always live in him. But right now he needs Silas, he needs the part of Red that is still tethered to earth. The part of Red that touches him like he may break and has soft eyes and a softer smile and chooses to wear brightly colored sweatshirts. 

This Red will destroy Silas from the inside out. So he forces down the puke that sits at the base of his throat, crawls up so he can rest on his elbows, and tries again. " _Silas."_

It's a command more than it is a word, and Red looks back at him, dark eyes bright like a child on Christmas. Hunter can't focus on that now, so he doesn't. "Silas, please. I need you." He would never admit he was begging, but right then, he gets pretty damn close.

"He hurt you, love. Just returning the favor."

"Yes, I'm hurt. I would like to be not chained to a table anymore. Let him go, Silas. He's not worth it."

Michael's hands twitch at his side. And that's when Hunter realizes. He's still got the gun. He's still got the gun. He's still got the–

Red slumps to the floor, a groan wrapped in a roar tearing itself from his mouth. When he gets up it's on unsteady feet, and he nearly careens into Hunter's table, hand very nearly tearing off fingers when it tears off the metal shackles. "Wooden bullets," Red groans, clutching his chest. The wound is trying to close but can't, opening just as soon as it can heal. "I need to get them out. I can feel it scraping against my heart."

Hunter sits up, head screaming and skin burning. He's so fucking hurt he doesn't know what it's like to feel peace, so he decides to forget about it altogether. He tried to make nice, he tried forgiveness. He can only forgive so much, but he's spent now. He has no more kindness left to give. 

He nearly topples when he stands, brought to his knees when he tries to take a step. He glares up at Michael, anger so raw it makes him flush. Michael levels the gun on him. Wooden or not, a bullet will kill him. Will stop his heart. "You've got him. You've got me. Just kill us."

Michael shoots another round at Red, who screams out. It's the first time Hunter's heard him like that and it's like his heart rips in half. Horrifyingly, tears start to overflow and spill over his cheeks, clearing the blood in their wake. "Just kill us! You've won!" He wraps himself over Red, allowing his body to cover the smaller man's, to hold the illusion that Hunter can protect him, that this means he is safe.

The gun fires again, ripping through Hunter's arm and into Red's back. Red slumps against him, wheezing, breaths wet in his punctured lungs. Hunter grits his teeth, tightens his hold. Michael pockets the gun. "I won't have to kill you," he says, no life left in his eyes. "No vampire can resist blood after being this hurt. He'll finish the job for me."

As if on cue, Red growls from beneath Hunter's arm, so low it's nearly subsonic. Hunter tightens his hold again.

"He'll kill me when he gets back to himself, I have no doubt about that," Michael says, starting to back out towards an exit. "But I won't have killed his love. He will. And he can't ever change that. I'm sorry, Hunter."

It's an empty apology, but before Hunter can respond, Michael is gone, and he's alone with a rabid vampire.

***

_Feed. Blood. Hungry. Hurt. Angry. Too much too much too–_

Red takes a deep breath and all he smells is blood. All he can think about is blood. The blood that's pumping through the veins of the man holding him. The blood that's keeping that man alive. 

His entire body is radiating pain, the wooden bullets scraping against his heart. He knows instantly that Hunter has a fresh wound. He can feel his fangs pressing on his lower lip, the way everything becomes more focused and intense. He can feel the thrum of the hunt, pulsing as easily through him as the blood he so needs. 

"Get out." He tries to make them words, though they come out more of a vibrating growl. 

Hunter holds him tighter, jostling his arm, making it bleed. "I'm not going anywhere."

"Hunter. I won't be able to stop. Please. You have to leave." And Red is not a prideful enough man to say he isn't begging. He is. He so desperately is. Because he wants– _needs_ Hunter to go anywhere else. Somewhere that doesn't have him. 

"I'm not recovering, Red." Hunter wipes a steady stream of blood from under his nose. He spent the last of his energy covering Red's body, pretending that would help. Red watches him with narrowed eyes. "Everything he did. My head. I can't come back. Not from this."

"My blood will..." But he can't finish. Hunter doesn't expect him to, either. He can't look Hunter in the eye and say he has enough control to feed him blood, to give up more. Because he doesn't. 

Instead, the man gives a smile, and tuck a piece of hair behind Red's ears. "Use me, Silas." Everything he can't say, everything he is too scared to admit, comes out in those three words. Uttered like a declaration, they feel too big for his mouth, too big for what they actually are. 

"I'll always choose you, love. If it were between the world and you, I would choose you."

Hunter laughs, though now that he's not fighting for Red's life he's starting to fade. Fast. "You've said."

"If it's between me and you. I will choose you. Always."

And that breaks through Hunter's thick and throbbing skull. His head aches with the implications and he finds himself gripping Silas so hard his fingers may break. "Don't make me die alone, Silas. Not when you're here."

Even with blood surrounding him. Even with _vulnerable_ rolling off Hunter in waves, Red keeps his face human. For Hunter's sake. To be Silas in these last moments. "You're not gonna die, love."

Hunter smiles, slumping into Silas, pretending like he's still protecting them. "You sound so charming when you lie."

Silas looks at him, something like tears starting to clog his throat, blurring his vision. Hunter's moving only jostles his wounds, only makes him bleed more. He allows Hunter to hold him, if only for these last few seconds. Waits for those eyes to shutter closed.

He wants to hold back more. Wants to pretend that he has a semblance of control. But he doesn't. He is ruled by monster and demon, and when he sinks his teeth into the soft skin of Hunter's neck, it's heavenly. He's so fucking hungry. He's a starved thing, a ravenous thing.

It's hot. Burning. The echoing feeling of need a twist in his stomach as he keeps going and going until Hunter's breathing starts to stutter. He wants to stop but there simply is no stopping now. Especially when he knows Hunter offered himself. When he knows this is what he wanted. He curls his hands into the man's shirt, feels the soft cotton under the pads of his fingers, and pretends that holding him close is a good enough goodbye. 

***

When Hunter wakes up, his head doesn't hurt. The absence of pain hums through his body, and he feels more rested than he has since the end of the world happened. "Dude," he mutters, words dry and cracked, "you've gotta stop waking up like this." This is either the fourth or fortieth time he's woken up after abruptly passing out since being with Red. With Silas.

He doesn't know where he is, but he's on a couch. He's a little too tall for it, feet dangling over the side, but after being strapped to a table and tortured for a couple hours it feels better than anything he's possibly slept on. 

But then he remembers. 

Silas. Silas. Silas! 

Somewhere, he started yelling the name, stumbling from his position and swaying gently on his feet. The room tilts when he stands, but he grits his teeth and takes a step. When it doesn't make him topple over, he takes another, and then there's hands holding him up, blue eyes staring at him so intensely he's surprised they don't cut him open.

"Easy, love," the voice says, covering him like a blanket. "You're still healing."

Hunter puts a hand to his head, because Red's brought fluorescent light with him and it burns his eyes. A glass of water is shoved into his hands and he downs it, and then the glass is replaced with a water bottle. "What...what happened to me?" He sits back down on the couch, trying to block the light out.

"I fed." Red sits down in front of him, sitting on his ankles. He puts those long, thin hands on Hunter's knees, and they're cool to the touch. "I fed on you."

Hunter's heart starts to jackrabbit, nearly leaping into his throat. "A-am I? Did you?" He can't get the words out, panic clinging to his vocal chords. 

Red grips his knees, bringing him back. "No. You never wanted to be like me, and I respect that."

Hunter's eyes go to Red's shirt. It's torn, blood staining the holes, but there's smooth skin underneath. He finds himself tracing the skin, the unmarred skin. It's so white against his own. His own that had been riddled with new scars and is now completely blank. "The bullets..."

Red smiles, tapping his fingers against Hunter's knees. "Took awhile, but I tore them out. Hurt like a bitch. But this..." The vampire stops to pull down the neck of his sweatshirt. There's a bite mark under it. A human bite mark. The indents of teeth fall into ripped skin, torn straight from the muscle. There's dried blood around it, and where the incisors would be are deep gouges. Red circles it with one finger. "This hasn't healed quite yet. Was much worse than this a few hours ago, got a good chunk of my shoulder, but I would expect it to be gone by now. Don't know why it isn't."

Hunter eyes it, reaching out to touch it but deciding halfway to pull his hand back. It looks nasty. "Wh-who did that?"

Red raises an eyebrow, a slight smile quirking at the corner of his mouth. "You mean you don't remember?"

"Remember what?"

Silas grabs his hands, forcing him to make eye contact. "Hunter. You did this."

He really doesn't remember. He roots around in his memory, trying to find the blank space that was the last few moments before blacking out. He remembers Silas waiting until his eyes were closed, waiting to let Red out. He remembers the feel of his fangs, needle-sharp, taking and taking and taking.

He digs, scratching at something that does not want to be irritated. He picks it apart, tears down what his brain thinks he is too fragile to remember. Pokes and prods until the memory hits him like a freight train.

_He's dying. He knew this already, but now, as Red takes all of him, he can feel his heart slowing. It doesn't hurt, just feels heavy, like his bones are starting to give up. His fingers go numb first, tingling feelings that make them hard to move. His toes, ears, nose, cheeks go soon after. He feels like a fish above water._

_Eventually, he starts to feel like falling asleep, maybe he's already done it. Fingers curl around his shirt, tugging at the neck. He wants to sleep, wants to sleep forever, wants to sleep until he doesn't know the word. But all he can see is him._

_Red. Silas. The man he can no longer live without. The man he hasn't lived enough with yet._

_He will not go gentle into that good night._

Hunter snaps out of the memory just as fast as he dove in. He _bit_ Red. Bit him with so much strength and fervor that he nearly ripped out a tooth. He remembers the pull on his gums, but when he examines, nothing is there. It's gone. Healed.

Red is still staring at him, still sitting on his ankles, still gripping his knees. "You fed on me." There's a rough edge to his voice as he says it, like the words are hard to get out. "You took my blood."

"I knew it would heal me, so I took it. I wasn't thinking. I just...I didn't want to leave you yet. Not yet. Because I-"

Silas's hand covers his mouth. "If you finish that sentence I will literally have to rip your clothes off." His voice has gone from choked to rough and ragged, like he's chewed gravel.

"That's a turn-on for vampires, isn't it? Humans biting you? Oh my god that's so–"

He doesn't get to make the _kinky_ joke, because suddenly Red's eyes aren't blue anymore. They are black and devoid of light, though somehow still hungry. "Not just any humans. A human biting us is intimate, the ultimate sign of trust. The only humans that do it are–"

This time Hunter is slapping a hand over Red's mouth. "I know that sweatshirt has holes in it, but unless you want it ripped to shreds, shut the fuck up."

He can feel the smile curl under his hand.

***

They find a bed somewhere in the expansive warehouse. Maybe on the third floor, maybe in the basement. They don't part long enough to look. At some point, Red thought it was easier to carry Hunter than watch his still-stumbling body walk on the stairs. So now Hunter's legs are wrapped around his waist and Hunter can feel every fucking part of the other man.

He cups his fingers impossibly hard around Red's face, kisses him with what must be too much force, but Red eats it up. He pushes back, his tongue taking lead and demanding Hunter follow. They kiss until the human can't feel his lips anymore and when they pull away he's breathing so hard he sees stars.

While he catches his breath, Red trails kisses down his neck, slowly, pulling soft whines from his throat and noises he didn't even know he could _make._ "Jesus, Red," he breathes, pushing the shorter man away for a moment, feet firmly back on the ground.

"Silas," the vampire snaps, though there's no heat behind him.

Hunter nods, bringing him back in, spelling the name in his mouth. "Silas," he breathes. 

The bed is a queen, white sheets still surprisingly clean. The mattress creaks and groans with disuse when Silas pushes Hunter onto it. The taller man falls onto his elbows, allowing the momentum to bounce him a few times. 

Immediately, Silas drops in front of him, pulling at the jeans that are all but destroyed. He can't help but feel a phantom twinge of pain as Silas pulls the tattered remains over his legs. His boxers desperately need to be washed, but he thanks his lucky stars that he didn't fucking pee himself while getting tortured. Which is a small victory given all things considered, and he swallows a half-hysterical laugh thinking about it.

But then Silas's fingers are hooking around the band of his boxers and starting to _tug_ and his reflexes kick in. Despite his better judgement, a blush starts to spread across his cheeks, though he knows it's more from frustration than embarrassment. "Silas, wait, I–"

"Do you not want this?" The question is so heated it burns.

"No, I do! God, I do. But, you know...my equipment looks a little different. Than yours. I mean." He's stumbling over his words, a bad habit born from years of rejection or disgust. He had had partners before, willing partners, but the ones that shoved him out the door always stand out the most. He thinks, bitterly, about the circled date in his calendar. By his count, it would've been in three weeks.

A snort brings him out of his head. "You think I care? You're gorgeous, love. Everywhere."

"Kiss ass," he mutters, but he lets Silas pull the boxers down anyway. 

After a moment, he feels a soft breath on his inner thigh, and it sends a shiver down his spine. Then there's a sharp pain but it goes away after an instant. Hunter jolts up, looking down at the man in front of him. "Care to explain?" he asks, raising an eyebrow, trying to ignore the heat coiling in his belly.

Silas looks up at him, fangs at the ready. His eyes start to change, but it's not like before. It's not like the change is snapping over him, his hunting mode. This time, he's completely in control, letting it roll over like an old friend. "Wanna mark you. Mine." He nips again, and Hunter inhales sharply.

"What, we're in a werewolf fanfiction now?" He's joking, but the words come out strained. He just wants Silas to keep _fucking touching him._

Silas licks over the spot, making Hunter jump. "You're. Mine."

He can see that Silas is serious about it, in his own, barbaric way. That it means something to him when it means so little to Hunter. So, slowly, he nods. And Silas's teeth slide into the skin, but it doesn't hurt. He doesn't feed, simply licks the small beads of blood that come through, and when he pulls back, there's a small imprint of his teeth.

"What does it mean?" he asks, resisting the urge to touch it.

He's so focused on it, that he almost misses what Silas's fingers do next. _Almost._ The cold shock of them make him lose his breath. Slowly, carefully, Silas's fingers roam over the part of Hunter that he hates thinking about. It's the forbidden part of him, the part of him that was supposed to go away soon. The part of him that has more nerve endings than any other part of his body, and every single one is reacting to Silas.

Silas works one finger inside of him, and then another, moving slowly. "Means you're mine. Anything would be an idiot to try and hurt you. And, most importantly, they'll know I'll always choose you. _I'll_ know I'll always choose you." He enunciates every sentence with the circling of his thumb and the speeding-up of his fingers.

Hunter thinks he may crumble just from this, but then Silas replaces his fingers with his _mouth_ and everything in the world stops. He thinks his heart stops, skips a beat, then two, and maybe even three before stumbling back to life. Silas doesn't even miss one, somehow pulling off his own pants and shirt without ever disconnecting. He goes until that heat in his stomach coils and coils and he grips the sheets on the bed so hard he's afraid he'll rip through them.

And then he's crashing, moaning something unintelligible or something like Silas's name as Silas rises from between his legs. "God, you're fucking amazing, Hunter." He kisses Hunter's thighs, kneads the tops of them gently with his fingers. Moves to Hunter's hips, which are more defined with muscle and weight loss than they used to be, but still soft and easy to hold. Swipes his thumbs over the bottom of Hunter's stomach, trails gently over his abdomen.

It's not long before Hunter's keyed up again, because apparently he has the refractory period of a fucking sixteen-year-old. He grips Silas's shoulders, forces their mouths together and doesn't think about tasting himself. Just thinks about Silas, about how he belongs to this man but how Silas belongs to him, too. How they first met and how it lead to something like this. How much he–

Hunter groans when Silas puts pressure on just the right place. How he keeps doing it until he's a fucking river. Hunter tries to reciprocate, but Silas stops him, grin in place. "Later, love." Instead, there's two fingers inside him again, spreading him slowly, picking up their pace.

He wants to get lost in it, hates himself that he has to ask this before he can. "Silas, wait, I–"

The vampire pulls back immediately, eyebrows drawing in concern. "Are you okay?"

"Way better than okay, I just. I'm still human. And we don't have...and I'm not on..." He cant bring himself to fucking say it. Can barely even think about it, about what could happen.

Silas brings a hand up under his chin, and somewhere he shifted from the floor to straddling Hunter, weight comfortable on his hips. "I can't carry illnesses. Or procreate."

"So we're safe?"

Silas smiles, swiping a piece of hair out of Hunter's eyes. "We're perfect." And then he continues his previous motions. They're lost in each other for awhile, Hunter loosening up under Silas's skilled fingers.

They slow their role eventually, pull out completely. When Hunter looks up, there's something like worry in his eyes. "I assumed," Silas says, licking his lips, "that you wanted it there. We don't have much, but if you don't, I–"

"Dude, anything other than proper lube is not going near my ass. Next time, yeah. But right now, it's okay." And for the first time in a long time, he means it. It is okay. Because Silas isn't treating him different and he didn't even miss a fucking beat. There was no adjusting there was no questioning, there was just _moving_ and it feels so fucking good.

Then he enters, and just _fuck_ it feels really fucking good. He goes slow at first, letting Hunter adjust, set the pace. But when their hips start to meet each other Silas grabs Hunter's hips in a bruising grip, setting a pace that is hard and fast, and it feels like he may come undone any moment. 

He hooks his ankles right above Silas's ass, letting him go deeper and nearly screams when Silas drives in. Maybe he does a little. He likes to think it was at least strangled. The bed creaks and groans with their pace, noise lost in their own pleasure. Hunter is babbling words that have no meaning and Silas is busy licking and nipping up and down his neck, sucking bruises into his skin like it's his calling.

It doesn't take long. Not for their pace and enthusiasm. And then Silas is slipping out, collapsing on top of the human in a huff of breath. "Remind me," he mumbles, "to do that so many more times."

"Yeah, but I'm on top next time." He doesn't know if the words come out audible or not, but Silas nods anyway.

"Deal."

They roll over, so Silas is curled into Hunter, using his arm as a pillow. They breathe in unison, though Hunter has an inkling that Silas is only humoring him. It helps his heart calm down though, helps him return to something near normal.

They stay like that for awhile. Curled around each other. Together. Until the darkness takes them both.

***

The words come easily when he wakes up for a few moments. He thinks Silas is really sleeping this time, so he says it. Feels his fingers trembling slightly as he does so. He whispers it into the hollow of the vampire's throat.

 _Use m_ _e, Silas_. 

Silas takes a deep breath. Kisses the words into Hunter's knuckles.

_I'll always choose you._

They drift back to sleep, the taste of _I love you_ on their tongues.

**Author's Note:**

> as a transman, writing Hunter was the first time I actually wrote a trans main character. it made me realize a lot of things about myself and how i feel. i was always scared i was never "trans enough" to write about being trans or some other bullshit. so this is sorta a milestone for myself, even if it's just a dumb short story. i hope you enjoyed! kudos/comments are always appreciated, and you can find me on [Twitter](http://twitter.com/readersharks) if you wanna follow me or look out for future works!


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